


The Transformation Twist

by amcw177



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Comedic Elements, Gen, I hope, Loki does not cope well with being a regular guy, alien invasions, involuntary Odinson family therapist Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 02:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10710348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amcw177/pseuds/amcw177
Summary: When Loki shows up at Coulson's door, deprived of his powers, Coulson can no longer keep Loki's side job as a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative a secret. The race to find out what the hell happened begins. Meanwhile, it would be great to figure out how to stop the slowest alien incursion in human history, too. Just because it's slow doesn't mean it isn't going to wreck the whole damn place. - A sequel to 'The Undercover Boogie'.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Strangely enough, this fic's sole purpose was to get Loki to wear a Captain America t-shirt. IDK, I thought it was funny at the time. Also, it's based around an idea I had about Loki's shapeshifting abilities. 
> 
> I started writing this sequel in 2012, long before Agents of SHIELD was even a whisper on the air waves. I was *still* writing it when the second Avengers movie came out. And when the second Thor movie was released. And when- well, you get my drift. I've been working on this for a while. Needless to say this doesn't follow any canon seen after 2012. In fact, I'm pretty sure it doesn't follow any sort of canon whatsoever. So there's that.
> 
> If you haven't read [The Undercover Boogie](http://archiveofourown.org/works/294801) and don't want to bother here's a quick low-down: Coulson secretly manages to recruit Loki for SHIELD, which makes him Loki's handler and favorite person to pester. But Coulson's a tough cookie and he knows how to put those mandatory psych evaluation sessions to good use.
> 
> A million thanks to [vld-hunk](http://vld-hunk.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for proofreading. I would also like to thank [Kentucka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kentucka/pseuds/kentucka) for being exceptionally patient while I explained this entire fic to her for two hours straight, and helping me out of some tricky corners I kept writing myself into. I've been over this so often I've developed tunnel vision so, if you find anything that seems out of place or doesn't make sense within the story please let me know. Otherwise, hope you enjoy. :)

Agent Coulson does not take days off. But when director Fury tells him to, _‘get out and not show his face at HQ until after the weekend’_ Coulson has little choice.

Not that Coulson is opposed to having days off, not at all. He enjoys free time just as much as the next agent. But the thing is, when you know the world is perpetually stuck on the brink of destruction, you tend to get fidgety when you can’t keep an eye on it.

But he tries. He tries really hard to have a pleasant evening. He has opened a bottle of wine that he can tell from the wrapping was a Christmas gift from Maria Hill from two years ago. He doesn’t know if wine can survive this long without growing legs but he’ll give it a shot anyway.

He went grocery shopping and has prepared a meal that is almost luxurious by his standards - which means it contains a side dish that is not potato wedges.

When he sits down in front of his TV he is sufficiently relaxed.

That is, until the doorbell rings.

\---

“Not a single word,” Loki growls, looking like death warmed over in a Care Bear t-shirt.

Coulson feels like he’s being pranked, which is not so far fetched when you’re talking to a trickster. He peers down both sides of the corridor to see if anyone’s watching and having the time of their lives, but there’s no one there. When he looks back at Loki, for some reason he’s still there; no hallucination then. Odd.

Coulson gives his unexpected visitor a onceover. The t-shirt is washed out and crinkly but that is definitely Cheer Bear in a cape adorning Loki’s chest. Funny, Coulson didn’t know they made them in men’s sizes.

“In that case it will be a very short conversation,” Coulson replies. The fashion faux-pas continues further downwards with a pair of linen trousers that may have been gray at some point but are now veering towards the muddy end of the colour range on account of being soaked through and clinging to Loki’s legs like tin foil.

Come to think of it, the entirety of Loki is drenched, which means he is leaving little puddles on the floor the longer he stands there.

Loki rolls his eyes and still somehow manages to look dignified when he tries to squeeze past Coulson.

“What are you doing?” Coulson stops Loki with a firm hand against his chest. His t-shirt is soggy and smells like fish.

Loki raises one eyebrow - the other is apparently done with today and refuses to respond at all. “Coming in. I assumed you were going to invite me in,” he says.

Normally, there is nothing wrong with this assumption, but Loki is dripping wet and Coulson doesn’t know what is going on, and he’ll be damned if he lets the God of Mischief into his home without an explanation.

“I’ll consider it once you’ve told me what you’re doing here.”

For a moment it seems as if Loki is going to choke on his own tongue, but then he deflates until he looks positively miserable. Grumpy Bear would have been a much more fitting choice.

“I appear to... to...,” Loki searches for words, which is alarming considering that linguistic contortions are his strong suit. “It seems I have lost my magic.”

He gives Coulson a look that is nothing short of pained and waits like, well, like a normal person would.

If the mere fact that Loki is standing in the hallway, _voluntarily_ using the door, dressed in something that looks like he has nicked it off a homeless person, and dripping onto the floor while _waiting_ for Coulson to make a decision weren’t already unsettling enough, the mere expression of misery on his face would be.

Besides, Coulson is in no way certain that a God of Mischief without magic is any less dangerous than one with his skills still intact.

“Fine.” Coulson steps aside. “But take off your shoes.”

“Really?” Loki frowns, a few clicks closer to his old self. “You are going to make me take off my shoes. Out here.”

Coulson nods. “You make squelching noises. You either continue to make them out here, or you take off your shoes.”

Loki blinks and Coulson gets ready to go for the taser. But then Loki sighs and toes off the pair of Nikes. He turns out to be sockless.

Coulson has been in a lot of situations that he reckons regular people would either run from screaming or just plain go insane from, but even he has to admit that the current display is surreal.

Loki trudges inside and stands in the middle of the room looking indecisive.

“Wait here,” Coulson orders and is shocked to find Loki obeying, albeit with a scowl.

He grabs a towel from the rack in the bathroom and rummages through his closet for a shirt that is big enough to fit Loki. The guy might not have Thor’s stature, but he is tall as a tree and Coulson is... well, _not_.

He winces when the only XL t-shirt he can find is one of his precious Captain America tees. But he supposes Cap would approve if it served to help someone. Even if it’s Loki.

He fishes a pair of sweatpants from the bottom drawer, a pair of socks too, and briefly wonders if he should offer underwear as well, but then refrains from it because that would be a discussion he feels can only go wrong. Loki will just have to make do.

“Here you go.” He shoves the pile of clothing at Loki who in turn gives him a questioning look.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Wear it.” Coulson puts the towel on top of it and indicates the bathroom as a potential place to change.

Loki, on the other hand, only gives him a pitying smile. “I do not get cold, agent Coulson, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“So I’ve heard.” Coulson nods. “But you are not sitting down anywhere in this apartment dripping like a half-baked sponge cake.”

Loki frowns; he is probably trying to figure out what a sponge cake is. Then he glances at the clothes in his hands, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “I do not want these.”

Coulson shrugs his shoulders. “Fine. But if you so much as brush against my couch in this state, I will chase you back out into the rain _naked_. And, I will call the cops on you.”

Once again Loki is awfully amused. “You think I’m afraid of your law enforcement?”

“No, not particularly,” Coulson amends as he wanders off into the kitchen, leaving the god behind. “But given that you can’t magic your way out of it right now, it will be one hell of a hassle.”

There is silence for a moment but then he hears Loki start to pad towards the bathroom. It’s funny to actually _hear_ Loki move about. Normally, the only warning Coulson gets is a shiver down his spine and a sudden drop in temperature - and even that is probably just a courtesy on Loki’s part.

“Your reasoning, agent Coulson, is, as always, wondrous,” Loki purrs as he passes by the kitchen on his way to the bathroom.

“I’m going to pretend that was a compliment.”

“Please do.” Loki’s voice is muffled by the bathroom door but he still manages to convey a smug grin through his tone.

While Loki is supposedly busy wrestling into his new street clothing, Coulson dedicates his attention to preparing some tea. He has no idea if tea is even a thing on Asgard - or anywhere else in the universe, for that matter - but he figures he needs to do _something_ , and it always seems to help on TV. If nothing else it’s a non-aggressive way to pass the time.

Loki’s magic is powerful, but that does not mean he is defenseless without it. Coulson has seen Loki fight in hand-to-hand combat and he would rather not agitate his guest any further.

Loki is unstable on the best of days. So, Coulson would hate to contemplate what losing his magic has done to Loki’s state of mind.

And then, after all of that, there is still the pressing question of whether or not this is a scam because Coulson distinctly remembers something about Loki looking quite different when he’s not making an effort - and it’s not just bed-hair.

Coulson is carefully wrapping his dinner in plastic when Loki emerges from the bathroom. His hair is uncannily fuzzy from being dried off in a non-magical way and he looks utterly unhappy as he wordlessly points to Cap’s shield prominently adorning his chest.

“If you do anything funny to that shirt I will lock you in a room with your brother and throw away the key,” Coulson warns and Loki sends him a death glare in return before rounding the corner and taking a seat in the living room beside the pass-through.

Coulson considers pouring himself a glass of wine but then thinks better of it and goes with the tea since he figures he will need to be sober for this. “You know, I hate to ask this, but if your magic is gone then why does it have zero effect on your appearance?”

Loki’s lips are a thin red line of silent defiance.

“Look,” Coulson continues. “You can tell me you’ve lost your magic all you want, but as long as you’re sitting here all flesh-colored and human I’ll have to assume you’re lying because it seems to me you’re using your magic to alter your appearance just fine.”

The wall of determined silence holds for another moment or two before Loki lets out an exasperated sigh. “Did Thor tell you that? It sounds like something he would say.”

“He may have... hinted at it.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Naturally. Because everything I do has _got_ to be magic. Clearly.”

“Yes, all right.” Coulson motions for Loki to get on with it. “I get it. No love lost there. I think we’ve established that. Moving on.”

Loki glares at him but seems to come to the conclusion that offering Coulson an explanation will get him further than bad mouthing his brother.

“Well, it’s _not_ magic,” Loki says as if he expects Coulson to defy him on that. “At least not in a traditional sense.”

“I doubt anything about you is traditional,” Coulson mutters.

That calls Loki’s trademark smirk back onto the plan. “Oh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Please do.”

Loki gives him a contemplative look as if to say, _’Nicely played.’_ and continues with a little less glaring, “It’s a reflex. A physical reaction to my surroundings. Nothing at all magical about it.”

Coulson squints. He doesn’t want to mention chameleons.

“So it’s a defense mechanism?” He ventures instead.

“If you will.” Loki’s nod is hesitant. “There is a saying you have here, I believe. _’When in Rome do as the Romans do’_? Well, I have never met any Romans but it seems my body is taking this piece of advice quite literally.”

“It’s meant to keep you safe.” Coulson thinks it’s pretty nifty. Except, maybe, if you land in a pit of slugs.

Loki snorts. “I’m certainly not doing it for fun. Well, not right now anyway. Obviously, I can control it with magic but at the moment...”

He spreads his arms as if to show that he’s unarmed - which he more or less is. “If you put me in a room with a Jotun or a Jotun artifact I would most likely shift back and it would be the last thing you ever see.”

“Then I’m glad I don’t have a Jotun.”

“This is no laughing matter, Coulson,” Loki growls.

“Am I laughing?”

There is a small crease that forms between Loki’s eyebrows as he tries to determine if Coulson is making fun of him.

“Good,” Loki concludes eventually.

“Any other forms you may randomly shift into that I should know about?”

Loki wordlessly glares at him.

“Great. Glad we talked about it.” Coulson is willing to accept this biological SNAFU for now and move on to the next problem. “Now, tell me what happened.”

“I would,” Loki replies. “But I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

“Okay...,” Coulson makes a mental note to research _temporary amnesia in Norse gods_. “Then what’s the last thing you do remember?”

Loki shifts uncomfortably. He probably thinks Coulson didn’t see it on account of turning around to retrieve the kettle from the stove but Coulson does and his concern grows. That’s a nervous gesture, a _human_ gesture.

Loki has a pretty good grip on his facial expressions and posture - there’s a fantastic poker player lurking in there somewhere - so slips like these speak of great inner turmoil. And Loki’s inner turmoil has a nasty tendency to become _exterior_ turmoil.

“I followed this group of rebels, as you requested me to in our last meet,” Loki explains while Coulson swirls a bag of chamomile tea (since he didn’t expect to entertain an eccentric Norse god tonight he neglected to buy any other) back and forth in the steaming water. “And for the record, I could have put an end to your problem right there and then-”

Coulson shoots him a warning glance and a fraction of Loki’s regular smirk returns.

“-but I kept my distance. I tracked them into the mountains in... what was it?”

“Armenia?” Coulson ventures as he goes through his cupboards in search for some sugar, or honey, or whatever else Asgardians might use to sweeten tea.

“Ah, yes. Armenia,” Loki affirms and waves his hand uncertainly. “I think I even sent you a report, did I not?”

Coulson sighs but nods anyway. “I remember a dozen text messages that I received at four in the morning informing me of how bored you were, and how this task was beneath you, ultimately culminating in a question about what I’m wearing.”

Loki hums as if recalling a fond memory. “Right. You never answered my question, by the way.”

Coulson puts the mug on a tray, along with an assortment of sugary accessories, and sets it down in front of Loki. “What does my silence tell you about asking people questions like that?”

“That you sleep in the nude?” Loki muses and gives the mug in front of him a perplexed look. “I’m confused. Tea? You are serving me tea.”

“Any objections?”

Loki hesitates for a second and then smiles in a way that could almost be described as sheepish. “You wouldn’t happen to have any alcoholic beverages I could add? I feel like taking up a bad habit.”

\---

The story goes like this: Loki was tracking a small group of rebels who S.H.I.E.L.D. suspected of having stolen a few artifacts from a small museum in Sofia. They were C 1 classified artifacts which was the only reason why S.H.I.E.L.D. even allowed the museum to keep them. No use in quarantining a couple of items that can turn orange juice into lemon at most. Their storage facilities are full to the brink as it is.

But since they were dealing with something magical, Coulson sent Loki. One might argue that Loki has exhibited great attraction towards catastrophe-inducing artifacts, but Coulson also knows that Loki is clever enough to keep his hands off of something that might end his own existence. Loki is very fond of it, after all.

Also, Agent Romanova was incommunicado and Agent Barton refuses to go near anything magical on principle. He claims it makes him feel _icky_.

Loki it was then. Needless to say, he was being a pain in the ass about it and Coulson has a grand total of 48 messages in his inbox to prove it. Some of them depicting, in great detail, his gruesome death at Loki’s hands should this mission get any more tedious.

According to Loki, the rebels made their way into the mountains where they scoured a set of caves with the help of, _’a doctor whose profession it is to find ancient rubbish in the dirt’_ , a.k.a. an archaeologist of unknown identity. Said doctor was presumably not a happy camper, but if Loki is to be believed, the man was left little choice.

They found _something_ in the caves. It caused a considerable amount of cheering; then the lights went blindingly bright for Loki before they went out entirely. When Loki woke up he was without his powers, which Coulson is willing to admit must have been a shock. But Loki is a resourceful guy. He managed to make it across the big lake somehow. He does not mention how he came by the atrocious Care Bear outfit, but Coulson figures there is a tall guy with a taste for old children’s TV shows now frantically searching for his luggage.

It would be funny if Loki’s misery wasn’t so tangible. Coulson tries not to get too emotionally involved in cases but Loki’s pain is oozing all over the place and all Coulson can do is mop up the mess and hope for the best.

“When I woke up I was like-,” Loki gestures as if he’s afraid that once he acknowledges his condition it will become real, “-like _this_.”

The mug on the counter now contains eighty percent rum and twenty percent tea, and Coulson wonders if he should be concerned about Loki’s alcohol consumption. Coulson has yet to assess how much god is still left in him.

Coulson doesn’t want to find out what a drunk God of Mischief is capable of in his woe, so he subtly pushes the mug out of reach. “And you didn’t get a good look at what they found.”

It’s not a question but Loki shakes his head no anyway.

“The doctor,” Coulson ponders then. “Would you be able to describe him?”

Loki’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Of course. But what good does that do you?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Coulson takes a sip from the bottle of rum, now that the brunt of the problem has been revealed. “But somewhere somebody is missing an archaeologist. They might like him back. It’s not much. But it’s a start.”

\---

“Do you have a place to stay?” Coulson asks when the rum supply is depleted. Loki presses his lips together and says nothing in return.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Coulson sighs and walks over to the couch to fold it into a bed while Loki watches him with curiosity in his eyes.

“An interesting piece of furniture,” Loki muses, but his tone implies that he is about to be difficult. “What do you expect me to do with it?”

Coulson pulls a pillow and a blanket out of a cupboard and tosses it onto the mattress. “I suggest you sleep on it.”

As predicted, Loki gives a derisive laugh. “I do not sleep, agent Coulson. Least of all on this.”

“I know. But I do. And if you want my help I urge you to keep quiet and let me.” Coulson gestures vaguely. “We’ll figure something out tomorrow.”

“Will we?”

“We’ll need to.” Coulson bids his guest good-night. “Because whatever happened to your magic, I don’t want anybody stumbling upon it by accident.”

“You think it’s still out there?” Loki’s tone is low and resigned. He sounds like someone who hasn’t hit rock bottom yet, but has a pretty good idea how much it will hurt when it happens.

Coulson turns around. “I simply don’t think you can make that much magic disappear entirely. Everything needs to go somewhere. We just need to find out where.”

Loki’s lips twitch into a half-smile. “That’s a very simple way of thinking, Agent Coulson. I’m afraid the workings of magic are a bit more complicated than that.”

“Maybe. But that’s what we’ve got you for, isn’t it?”

Loki makes a face and Coulson smiles because that is as close to Loki’s old self as they are going to get tonight. It’s not much. But it’s a start.

\---

Loki is a horrible house guest. It’s not that he makes a mess or leaves his dishes in the sink or doesn’t put down the toilet seat - hell, Coulson isn’t even sure Loki needs to pee at all. No, Loki is terrible because silence follows him around like a goddamned black hole.

He is _aggressively quiet_.

Coulson tries to fall asleep for hours, but his overactive brain keeps listening for movement in the other room. There is no sound, but Coulson can practically _feel_ Loki brooding. It is seeping through the walls like alien goo and creeping through the crack underneath the door.

Eventually, Coulson has enough and stalks into the living room where he encounters Loki sitting in the dark and staring out the window - as expected.

Loki turns around and opens his mouth to say something but Coulson waves it off. He heads into the kitchen and retrieves the half-finished box of Ben & Jerry’s from the freezer. When he walks back into the living room Loki eyes him as if he’s carrying a bomb.

Coulson sits down next to Loki, puts the box of ice cream in his lap, sets a spoon down on top, and switches on the TV.

It’s either late night shopping or porn on most channels but Coulson figures everything is okay to make the silence go away. He settles for a commercial about steam cleaners that will probably last all night and leans back.

Meanwhile, Loki takes turns staring at Coulson and then at the ice cream in his lap. _He’s a god_ , Coulson thinks, _he’ll figure it out._

And indeed, a few minutes later Loki is tentatively prodding at Cookies & Cream, which should be hilarious, but is oddly depressing.

If anybody had told Coulson that he would be sitting next to a melancholic Norse god who is having his first encounter with ice cream while watching teleshopping at three in the morning, he would have laughed in their faces. Or, tasered some sense into them.

But alas, he is doing just that and it feels alarmingly less awkward than he thought it would. They are both strange in their own ways. Being strange together seems to be the only natural progression at this point.


	2. Chapter 2

“What happened to you? Stayed up all night?” Barton playfully nudges Coulson in the side and grins like he has his entire bow stuck sideways in his mouth.

“Not that it concerns you but yes, as a matter of fact, I did,” Coulson admits and inconspicuously peers past Barton.

They are on the bridge of the Helicarrier and Captain Rogers is conversing with an agent a few feet away. Coulson could interrupt but he is too much of a stickler for protocol so he waits for the right moment to potentially end his career.

“Okay, what’s her name?” Barton winks, munching on an apple he has probably stolen from the kitchen.

Coulson pauses for a moment.

“I had work to do,” he says which does not please Barton in the slightest.

“Oh, I see.” Barton smirks, carving out another slice of apple with a knife that is about twice the size of a standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D. blade. “It’s another agent, isn’t it?”

Coulson isn’t sure if he should be laughing because _Loki_ , or crying because it is scarily accurate in a weird kind of way. He settles for a noncommittal facial expression.

Barton leans heavily on the railing and looks up at him with the sort of interest that is usually reserved for big red buttons saying _’Do Not Push’_. “Never pegged you for the kind to pick up a date at work, sir.”

“That’s because I don’t.” Coulson scowls in hopes of discouraging any further questions. But this is Agent Barton who wouldn’t understand a ‘No’ if you painted it on the inside of his scope.

“Is it Hill?” He asks with a nod in her direction and Coulson refrains from pointing out how ridiculous the mere suggestion is. Agent Hill is an attractive woman, no doubt, but that... is actually entirely beside the point.

Barton shoots him a contemplative glance and then shakes his head. “Nah. You’re right. She looks pretty well rested. Unless, of course, you were doing all the hard work.”

Coulson is convinced that he does not want to have this conversation. Which is, in fact, not even a conversation at all since Barton is doing all the talking and Coulson is mainly concerned with keeping a straight face and not losing sight of Captain Rogers.

“Well then,” Barton merrily continues to ponder Coulson’s preferences in bed partners. “How about her? She looks like she’s had a rough night.”

Barton’s grin is bordering on obscene as he waves a hand at one of the navigation officers. Her name is Sarah and Coulson would be a horrible person if he did because she is married and has two kids. And a dog named Bradley.

“Not her either, huh?” Barton’s eyes narrow and he straightens up, scratching the back of his head with the hilt of the knife. “Alright, fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll find out eventually.”

He makes a miffed face and wanders off, possibly to watch Coulson’s every move from an elevated look-out. Coulson sighs, half in relief and half in dread because if Barton does find anything, it will be a grumpy Norse god and Coulson wants to have _that_ conversation even less than the recent one.

In the meantime, the agent has left and Captain Rogers remains standing alone. Coulson approaches carefully.

“Captain,” he says politely, nodding.

“Agent Coulson.” The Captain seems delighted enough to see him. He smiles and Coulson’s knees go weak but he doesn’t know if it’s from the blinding parade of teeth or the sheer insurmountable pressure of Rogers’ undivided attention. “What can I do for you?”

Coulson motions towards the exit. “Could I have a word in private, please?”

Rogers winces. “Uh, if this is about your friend’s son’s birthday party, I’m not sure I can-”

“Oh! No, no, no. We... found someone else.”

“Oh good.” The Captain’s smile is uncertain yet clearly relieved. “Because I’m not a very good juggler.”

“I’m sure you would have been fantastic,” Coulson reassures him because this is _Captain America_. If necessary, Steve Rogers could save the world juggling three puppies, a motor-saw, and a bucket of chicken wings without any fatalities.

Rogers offers him a doubtful grin. “So, you wanted to talk in private?”

“Ah, yes.” Coulson beckons Rogers to follow him off the bridge.

They round a few corners, take a couple of stairs that Coulson could navigate in his sleep and eventually end up in one of the interrogation rooms on the lower decks.

Rogers is reasonably - and justifiably - concerned.

“Okay...,” Rogers muses while looking around the bare room, frowning. “To be entirely honest, you are beginning to freak me out.”

“Shall we have a seat first?” Coulson suggests and sits down on one of the only two chairs. This lands the Captain on the other side of the table by default since all of the furniture is welded to the floor.

“Am I going to need it?” Rogers jokes but his face says _’I am going to need it, aren’t I?’_.

Coulson makes a motion that is half shrug and half nod which is obviously not comforting, judging by Rogers’ deepening scowl.

There is no diplomatic way to break this to the Captain so Coulson figures he might as well start with what Rogers already knows. Establish trust, agree on common ground-

Holy crap, he’s doing it. He’s using interrogation techniques on freaking _Captain America_. What is the world coming to.

“You may have heard the rumors about my recruitment of a certain-,” Coulson stops, dismisses several possible expletives and settles for, “- _mischievous_ individual.”

Surprisingly, Rogers laughs. “Oh, you mean the rumor going around that you recruited Loki? Yeah. Actually, I’ve heard several variations by now. One of them mentions a horse. I don’t know how-”

“They’re all true.” Coulson hesitates. “Except the one with the horse. I fear Barton reads too many folklore books.”

The bout of laughter dies in Rogers’ throat and his eyes go wide. “Are you telling me that you-”, he gestures at Coulson and it’s not clear if it’s in awe or in horror, “-you roped in Loki, the god of seven buckets of crazy, for S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Yes.”

The Captain slumps back in his chair. He’s giving Coulson the same look Stark gives machinery once it tries to kill him - concerned yet weirdly proud.

“You-,” Rogers pauses, then starts again, “Does Fury know about this?”

“I suppose he does,” Coulson says cautiously. “He was the one to give the order, after all.”

Rogers’ eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “He told you to go recruit Loki?”

“Not in as many words, no.”

“So, you’re doing all of this in secret, aren’t you?”

“In the strictest sense of the word, yes,” Coulson admits and Rogers looks like he’s considering hitting someone with a dictionary.

“What’s a not so strict sense of the word then?”

“Careful omission.”

“How much time exactly do you spend with Loki? Because I think he’s rubbing off on you.”

Coulson almost smiles. He reckons if his time were divided in a pie chart Loki would put his finger on it and call all of it _‘Mine’_ in this determined tone of voice that he uses when he knows he’s pissing someone off.

Rogers sighs. “All right. So, you’re Loki’s handler, God knows how you managed that, what is it you need me for?”

“Well…,” Coulson is suddenly acutely aware that he is about to invite Captain America over for dinner with a villain. “It seems Loki encountered a problem during his last mission.”

Rogers scowls. “Since when does he _encounter problems_? I always thought he was the one causing them.”

“True enough,” Coulson agrees. “But this time he is... personally affected.”

The Captain raises his eyebrows and Coulson heaves another sigh.

“He lost his magic.”

“He _what_?”

Coulson shrugs. “He was robbed of his magic powers.”

Rogers sits up, leaning heavily onto the table. “You want to tell me he’s completely powerless right now?”

Coulson wonders if someone who can talk you into jumping off the 36th floor and being fucking happy about it can ever be considered _’powerless’_ , but in terms of destructive force...

“More or less,” Coulson says cautiously.

“Wow.” Rogers sits back. “Somebody has finally found a way to turn that git into a harmless school boy and you want me to keep it a secret?”

There are so many things wrong with that sentence Coulson doesn’t even know where to start correcting, so he doesn’t. He merely nods. “It would be very much appreciated if we could keep this between you and me, yes.”

Rogers narrows his eyes, clearly contemplating his options. Coulson holds his stare.

“Why?” Rogers asks after an eternity of the world’s most patriotic staring contest. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t send a tactical team to- Where is he?”

If Rogers thought this was already the weirdest part of this conversation, he is in for a treat.

Coulson straightens up. “In my apartment.”

It sounds even more hilarious when he says it out loud. Naturally, Rogers is caught between laughter and possibly the urge to flip a table - along with the floor, if necessary.

“You keep a known villain _in your apartment_?”

“More like _disgruntled_ villain at the moment but yes. We can’t have him wandering the streets like this. Trust me.”

“Coulson...,” This seems to be the entirety of Rogers’ vocabulary at this point. He hides his face in his hand while Coulson waits for the opportune moment to ask his favor.

Minutes pass in which Coulson is torn between gingerly patting Cap’s head and leaving to get a cup of coffee.

“Okay,” Rogers starts slowly, as if he’s still trying to fit the pieces together. “Let me get this straight. Loki is working for you. _Loki_. Who cackles and enjoys killing people-”

“In his defense, he doesn’t cackle half as much as people think,” Coulson interjects and realizes too late that this may not have been the most encouraging of comments.

The Captain shoots him a glance that couldn’t be more aghast if it tried and continues, pretending - not unlike Coulson - he never said anything, “So, he works for you. Us. How does that even work? He doesn’t make you do anything... dishonorable, does he?”

Rogers’ concern flatters Coulson to no end. But it is strangely misplaced.

“I guess, he would say it’s the other way around, sir.”

One of Rogers’ eyebrows makes a solo field trip upwards. “So, how _do_ you get him to accept missions?”

“I gave him an alternative.”

“Do I want to know?”

“I never said it was an appealing one.”

“Apparently not.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Captain Rogers is probably reevaluating Coulson’s capacity for deviousness while Coulson is quietly counting down the minutes to his inevitable dismissal without notice.

“And this guy-,” Rogers makes a gesture that may or may not imply horns, “-the one who rains mayhem and mass hysteria down on us every other month came running to you for help when somebody stole his magic, am I getting this right?”

“I doubt there was much running involved,” Coulson amends. “But essentially... he made his way to my doorstep, yes.”

“And what is it you want me to do about it?” Rogers’ tone of voice suggests that whatever Coulson says next will be decisive for his mental state.

So Coulson steels himself and makes it sound as sane as possible. “We need you to do a sketch of a man Loki saw on his mission who might help us find out what happened.”

Seconds tick past in complete silence and Coulson panics a little. _Oh God, I broke him. I have legitimately broken Captain America._

But to Coulson’s immense relief Rogers finds his voice again - and also his scrutinizing facial expression. “You want me as a sketch artist? For Loki?”

“Not exactly _for him_ but I am asking you to sit down with him and do a facial composite.” Coulson nods and throws in a hopeful smile as encouragement.

“A ship full of agents and I’m the only one you could think of to ask?”

Coulson tugs at his tie. “I did go through our personnel files but, sadly, it seems we are terribly lacking in artistically talented agents.”

Besides, Coulson isn’t going to put a regular level one or two agent in the same room with Loki. He’d have them jumping out of windows in a matter of minutes. Captain Rogers is the only person who Coulson trusts to withstand whatever Loki’s throwing at him - or at least deflect it without injury. 

Rogers hums, either in agreement or in quiet contemplation of resigning and moving to Canada. Then he inclines his head as if he’s reached a decision and says, “You know what? I’ll do it.”

Before Coulson can dissolve into a string of overjoyed _’Thank you’s_ the Captain taps his index finger against the table. “On one condition: you tell Fury.”

Fair enough. Coulson figures it would have been unavoidable sooner or later anyway. Whatever this is, whatever they’re facing this time, it started with Loki, and that is pretty difficult to keep secret.

“I will, sir,” Coulson assures him as they get up and head out into the corridor. “Thank you so much, Captain. I really appreciate your help.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Rogers turns around but hesitates, “What _was_ the alternative?”

Coulson leans against the door and shrugs. “Us.”

“Us?”

“We. Mankind. In all our glory.”

Rogers gives him a long, thoughtful look. “The sad thing is, I think I know what you mean.”

\---

For one horrifying moment Coulson fears Loki might be gone, but after the seventh ring he finally picks up.

 _”Moe’s Tavern. How may I help you?”_ He does a horrifyingly accurate impression of Moe.

“The Simpsons? Really?”

 _”I have been stuck here all day. And this show is the only thing on TV that’s even halfway bearable.”_ Loki replies as if this explains any and all strange behavior. It occurs to Coulson then that the difference between Loki and a prissy cat is smaller than one might think.

“And I see you’ve been making sensible use of your free time,” Coulson says while Loki huffs on the other end of the line. “Listen, I’m going to bring someone over tonight-”

 _”Agent Coulson!”_ It’s amazing how Loki can go from pissed to theatrically offended in one second flat. _”I’ve just moved in and already you are cheating on me?”_

Coulson ignores the snickering that follows. “Just make sure you’re not naked or anything similarly embarrassing.”

_”Why would I be naked?”_

“Because strictly speaking, you have no clothes.”

_”You have a wardrobe, don’t you? I’ll find something.”_

Coulson means to object but Loki has already hung up. The ‘call ended’ screen mocks him and he glares at it before tucking the cell phone back into his pocket, mumbling to himself, “If you touch my Captain America hoodie you’re dead.”

\---

What Loki _’finds’_ is Coulson’s bathrobe. _Only_ Coulson’s bathrobe.

Coulson stops in the door and stares at Loki who is standing in the hallway, clad in nothing but grey flannel. The bastard is grinning like he’s won the lottery.

Coulson briefly considers turning back around and making up some kind of excuse but Rogers is already peering past him to see what the hold-up is.

“Please come in, Captain.” Coulson moves aside to allow the Captain to step into the apartment. He notices with a considerable amount of satisfaction how Loki’s features contort into something like indignation when his gaze falls upon Captain Rogers who - bless the good Captain - takes it in stride.

Loki’s attention snaps back to Coulson. “You must be joking.”

“Nice to see you too,” Rogers says as he trots into the living room. Yes, Coulson can tell this was a marvelous idea. Absolutely nothing to worry about.

Coulson inserts himself between the Captain and Loki before anyone can get stabbed. “Loki? A word in the bedroom, please?”

Loki smirks. “Oh, _Philip_ , not when we have a guest.”

Mortification is Loki’s favorite form of punishment, but Coulson is used to it by now. He doesn’t react unless Loki physically shoves his hand down his pants and once that happens Loki will have an entirely different set of problems. Most of them will revolve around figuring out how to eat without hands.

Coulson sends Rogers an apologetic glance before nudging Loki into the hallway. “Please excuse us, Captain. We’ll only be a minute. Have a seat.”

“Is this a joke to you?” Loki snarls once the bedroom door has fallen shut behind them. “Is my predicament amusing you?”

“Not in the slightest.” Coulson does not back away. “As it happens your problem is _my_ problem and I tend to take those very seriously.”

“Then why did you bring _him_?”

“Captain Rogers-,” Coulson puts special emphasis on the ‘Captain’ because, hello, _rank_ , “-has graciously agreed to do a sketch of the archaeologist you saw. And do I need to remind you that this is currently our _only_ lead as to what happened to your magic?”

There is rage in Loki’s expression but it has no direction, which doesn’t mean it can’t hit a target by accident.

“You want your magic back,” Coulson says. It’s not a question because it’s a fact. Coulson can see how much Loki suffers every second of the day. It’s in the small gestures, the subconscious movements that make zero sense if you don’t know that, normally, they serve to conjure his magic; little things like changing his clothes instantaneously, but also big things, like an outlet for his anger. All of this has been taken from him and he might be the god of lies but muscle memory is a bitch. It will always betray you.

So, Coulson points to the Captain in the other room and tries to fight rage with reason. “We’ll get your magic back. But you gotta trust me on this. He’s our only chance. Unless you know someone else who is willing to sit down with you and make a usable sketch for facial recognition.”

Loki gives him a look emulating a cat that just witnessed a dead mouse coming back to life. He takes a step back, bewildered, but physically ending the quarrel.

“Good.” Coulson stops in front of the door. “And, if at all possible, try to be nice.”

“Oh, I’ll be nice,” Loki says with a leer that is so blatant it has its own personality.

“And the way you just said that makes it sound really believable.”

\---

“Captain,” Loki says as he sits down at the table. The chair creaks ominously in the void of friendliness.

“Loki.” Rogers nods and digs around in his bag for his drawing utensils.

“How’s the shoulder?” Loki inquires with a smirk that couldn’t even pass as amicable if it cheated.

Rogers automatically rolls his shoulder and obviously tries very hard not to punch Loki in the face. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

Loki drums his fingers on the table as if waiting for someone particularly dense to catch onto a joke. “Too bad. I’ll have to hit harder next time.”

Coulson steps in before things can get out of hand. “Can I offer you anything to drink, Captain?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.” Rogers flashes him a brief smile. “Can we just get this over with, please?”

“Aren’t you going to offer me anything, Agent Coulson?” Loki chides and Coulson contemplates just letting Cap hit him. But fighting amongst the men is bad for morale.

“I’m pretty sure you have no qualms about helping yourself to anything in this apartment,” Coulson concludes and realizes his mistake when Loki’s grin turns wide and ambiguous.

“Really? _Anything?_ My, Philip, all you had to do was ask.”

Coulson nods to himself and sends an apologetic smile Cap’s way. “I should have seen that one coming.”

“Indeed you should have.” Loki presents him with a triumphant tilt of his chin that most statues of ancient conquerors would be proud of. “You are losing your edge.”

Coulson sends Loki a pointed look. “I don’t think it’s _my_ edge we need to worry about right now.”

Fortunately, Rogers wrestles the Dallas snow-globe out of Loki’s hand before he can throw it.

\---

The rest of the evening progresses more pleasantly than anticipated. Loki answers the Captain’s questions accurately and with less spite than previously displayed.

Rogers draws avidly, erasing and repositioning according to Loki’s descriptions. If the air of resentment wasn’t thick enough to be used in demolition works it would have almost passed as civilized.

Coulson does bring them tea after a while because being on standby in his own home feels awkward. Loki makes a face but wordlessly accepts the cup while Rogers gives him a court smile before reverting his attention back to the picture.

“All right.” Rogers gives his work one last critical look before holding it up for them to see. “Is this the guy you saw?”

Loki squints. “Surprisingly... yes.”

Coulson leans closer to inspect the picture. The man looks to be in his forties, short, ruffled hair that seems to spend its days in a constant state of shock, a strong, bearded jaw. Most of it can probably be accredited to being held captive for an undetermined period of time. It’ll do nicely.

Rogers carefully tears the page out of his notebook and hands it to Coulson. “Here you go.”

“Thank you very much, Captain. Your help is much appreciated.” Coulson ignores Loki’s exasperated eyeroll.

“You’re welcome.” Rogers stands up and politely shakes Coulson’s hand. “But remember our deal. And you-,” he points at Loki who looks as if he’s going to pop a vein, “-don’t get agent Coulson into any trouble. You’re lucky he’s a friend.”

“Otherwise _what_?” Loki rises to his full height which is still a good few inches taller than the Captain.

“Otherwise I will drag your sorry ass back to headquarters without a second thought.” Rogers pokes Loki in the chest and Coulson is mentally picking out new furniture.

He’s not sure if Loki would survive a struggle with Captain America at the moment but Loki seems eager to try.

“Gentlemen,” Coulson interrupts before his apartment turns into a battlefield, “if you want a showdown I suggest you do it outside. My insurance doesn’t cover damage by superhuman beings.”

“I am not human,” Loki snarls, eyes still trained on Rogers.

“And I said _superhuman_. Details make all the difference. You should know.” Coulson beckons Rogers to follow him outside while Loki stews in his own resentment.

They stop by the door and Coulson aims to get back into the Captain’s good graces by shaking his hand enthusiastically. “Thank you, Captain. We really appreciate your help.”

The Captain stoically shakes his hand, but then narrows his eyes. “How do you do it? How do you put up with that?”

“With Loki?” Coulson can only shrug. “There’s a lot of reading between the lines.”

“I heard that!” Loki shouts from the living room.

“See?” Coulson nods, but judging by Rogers’ confused expression he doesn’t _’see’_ anything. And that’s when Coulson realizes he has become the world’s first and only Loki-to-human translator. “He doesn’t even deny it.”

Rogers makes the same face as many S.H.I.E.L.D. agents during one of Stark’s prototype presentations: Look intrigued and then google the foreign-sounding words.

Rogers snaps out of his wonder after a few seconds and bestows another concerned glance upon Coulson. “Well, you just take care of yourself, okay? And if he gives you any trouble, you call me, all right?”

Coulson offers him a grateful smile. “Will do, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Rogers waves him goodbye and disappears down the stairs. Coulson closes the door and leans against it for a moment. He feels like he has just survived a minor apocalypse.

“You _like_ him,” Loki says when Coulson returns to the living room. He’s grinning but it sounds like an accusation.

Coulson heads into the kitchen and pretends as if this is going to be a normal conversation. “Of course I do. He’s a very likeable person.”

Loki saunters over to the pass-through and leans on the counter as if he’s going to make an announcement in front of the UN summit. “You have _a crush_ on him.”

Coulson sighs. Loki is like an argumentative parasite. He latches onto any idea or statement he considers useful and only lets go when it proves not to be. Better to get it over with then.

“I wouldn’t call it a crush. It implies a somewhat passing fancy. This is the life-long appreciation of a legend that I was lucky enough to see come back to life.”

Loki makes a face. “That’s horrible.” Then he shakes his head and his shoulders droop a bit before he wanders out of Coulson’s sight. “I can’t even mock you for that.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something else,” Coulson comments and quickly adds, “Hungry?”

“No.”

“I thought so,” Coulson replies and dials the _Green Dragon_ to order two large menus.

They spend the rest of the night on the couch with Loki furiously stabbing a couple of dumplings and Coulson explaining the deeper meaning of late night talk shows to him.


	3. Chapter 3

Running a face trace on S.H.I.E.L.D. equipment without anybody noticing is not as easy as it sounds. There are agents constantly keeping watch over the screens, noting down every possible hit, passing on information, processing, evaluating, adjusting parameters, and generally being in the way.

Coulson resorts to setting up an extra laptop in his office that he has procured from Stark’s _Cupboard Of Semi-Failures Which May Or May Not Be Resurrected At Any Given Point In Time Without Warning_ a.k.a. _The Stark Zoo_ , which is really just a large storage room on a lower level of HQ filled with experiments that have either developed too much personality for Stark’s liking or not enough.

Coulson selects one of the less clingy models and sets up the trace.

He feels a little bit guilty for circumnavigating official channels like that but until he has more solid evidence he can hardly reason with ‘Because Loki said so’.

It takes an entire day for the search to hit gold since it’s run with just a fraction of its usual computing power. But it provides Coulson with a name and a missing person's report.

“Asil Nazif,” Coulson tells Agent Winters in the following video call. “He’s a professor at Ankara University. Reported missing eleven days ago. I would like you to find out all you can about him.”

Agent Winters, in her capacity as assistant regional director for their Middle East operations and former trainee of Coulson’s, raises one eyebrow in question.

“Start with his wife,” Coulson suggests. “She was the one who reported him missing. He’s supposed to be on vacation, according to the university.”

She nods but Coulson can clearly see all the uncomfortable questions that she is tossing around in her mind. She goes for the least compromising one.

“Sir, may I ask why we are looking for this man?”

“He’s a person of interest in a case I’m currently working.”

“Ah,” she says and that’s it. There’s a reason why Coulson called her. Nothing beats the quiet, subliminal understanding between former pupil and teacher. Agent Winters has learned well when to go with the flow. It’s basically the first thing you learn at S.H.I.E.L.D. - and you continue to learn it every day.

“Call me on my cell when you’ve got something,” Coulson adds.

“Your _cell_ , sir?” There goes the eyebrow again. She reminds Coulson of her father who could call a bluff from halfway around the world while fighting off an alien attack.

Coulson sighs inwardly. “Yes. I won’t be around much for the rest of the day.”

It’s a crappy excuse because no matter where he is or what he’s doing he’s always available through S.H.I.E.L.D. channels when he’s on duty (which is always). So, the mere suggestion of taking calls on his private cell phone implies a certain delicacy of the matter.

It seems to be obvious to agent Winters as well. “I see. I will look into it personally.”

She gives a curt nod and the call ends with Coulson having the vague feeling that he trains his agents a bit too well.

\---

When the door swings open the first thing Coulson notices is the distinct air of absence. This is further confirmed by a search through his apartment which turns up exactly zero Lokis.

Normally, this wouldn’t have Coulson worried. Loki skips in and out of his apartment whenever he pleases so, _not_ finding him is not that much of a bummer. On the other hand, Coulson really does not care for reading about Loki in the newspapers tomorrow - either because he randomly mauled someone or because he got shipped off to a mental institution, or both.

Coulson skims his closet and finds several pieces of clothing missing, while the bathrobe is dangling innocently from the coat rack. Good. At least Loki’s not walking around naked. That’s a headline Coulson definitely doesn’t want to see.

Coulson is just about to head out when he hears some hushed voices in the corridor. He wrenches the door open and comes face to face with Loki and Mrs Boyd.

She hands Loki what appears to be a large piece of cake wrapped in foil which Loki accepts with the most sickeningly sweet smile Coulson has ever seen on him.

“Much obliged, Mrs Boyd. Always a pleasure.” Loki bows and kisses her hand. Somewhere between the wrinkles she blushes.

She laughs and reaches up to pinch Loki’s cheek. “Ah, what a polite young man you are.” 

At this point Coulson contemplates laying off the caffeine. Clearly, he’s hallucinating.

On any other day, Mrs Boyd would be dead for touching Loki without his consent, but to Coulson’s horror Loki actually bows his head and kisses her on the cheek.

Coulson rams his right foot against the wall to test if this is a dream. It hurts like a bugger.

It also makes them aware of his presence.

“There he is!” Mrs Boyd exclaims and wobbles over to him in order to drag him closer. She isn’t too good on her feet and wheezes a lot but that doesn’t stop her from turning Coulson’s life upside down.

“Yes.” Loki straightens up and judging by the knowing smirk on his face he absolutely _wants_ to get punched in the nose. “There he is.”

Mrs Boyd holds Coulson’s hand in a death grip and illuminates the horrifying situation Coulson has stumbled into. “I am so happy for you, Philip. Finally! I had almost given up hope.”

“Hope on what, if I may ask?” Coulson ventures but one look at Loki tells him all he needs to know.

Nevertheless, she slaps his hand lightly as if to say _’Stop being silly.’_ and points at Loki. “That you would find someone, of course. Let me tell you, being alone all the time isn’t good for you. Makes you go crazy.”

She nods wisely.

“Well, sometimes company can do that too,” Coulson argues with a glance at Loki, who shrugs and continues to grin like the proverbial cat who has learned to operate the can opener.

“Listen,” Mrs Boyd suddenly yanks Coulson down to face-level (which is closer to the ground than Coulson anticipated) and whispers, “you make sure to keep this one around, all right? He’s precious and I can tell he really likes you.”

“Really,” Coulson dead-pans. He’s convinced that for Loki pretending to like someone is a piece of cake - literally.

“Absolutely.” She nods again and finally releases Coulson’s hand. She gives them another encouraging smile and hobbles back into her apartment. “Well then, boys. I won’t keep you any longer. It was lovely meeting you!”

Loki blows her a kiss and she giggles, which sounds a little bit like a teenager who has swallowed a piece of sandpaper.

When the door has fallen shut behind her Coulson slowly turns to Loki who interprets his look correctly as one that promises physical injuries if not met with a viable explanation.

Loki holds out the foil-covered plate and shrugs. “She made cake.”

There is nothing eloquent in this or any other universe that Coulson could reply, so he simply turns around and heads back into his apartment, hoping that whatever horror he just witnessed won’t follow him.

\---

Naturally, it does follow him. It sets the cake down on the counter of the pass-through and grins.

“Can you tell me what you were doing in my neighbor’s apartment?” Coulson inquires.

Loki frowns. “She invited me in. What was I supposed to do? Refuse?”

Coulson inclines his head. He isn’t sure if he should ask what the other available options are.

Loki heaves an exasperated sigh and makes a complicated gesture at the plate in front of him. He looks confused for a second and then scowls. He clearly expected something to happen, but when the cake remains unimpressed he starts picking holes into the foil with a ferocity that usually requires a knife and a jugular.

“I have been cooped up in here for two days,” Loki snarls. “What did you expect me to do?”

“I don’t know. Be cooped up in here for another two, perhaps?”

Loki sends him a warning glare and rips off the foil entirely. Images of torn flesh come to mind which is not exactly the kind of association one tends to have to strawberry cake.

“I went for a walk,” Loki explains. “I met her on my way back and she invited me in. Apparently, she is very delighted to hear about our... relationship.”

Coulson squints. “About that… Why does she think we’re in a relationship?”

Loki shrugs his shoulders and waves his hand at the cupboards underneath the sink. When nothing happens he growls deep in his throat and slams the crumpled up ball of foil onto the counter.

“She simply assumed that we were,” Loki grumbles. “I saw no need to correct her. Besides, it explains my presence in your place rather nicely. And a lot better than the truth, I might add.”

Sadly, that’s true. Such is the everlasting conundrum of Loki: he may say horrible, seemingly nonsensical, or plain rude things but he always _has a point_. You may not like said point but that won’t make it any less significant.

It leaves Coulson with nothing to do but hum his agreement while searching the kitchen for anything to slice a cake with that is not a knife. He isn’t sure having Loki in the vicinity of sharp objects right now is a good idea.

“You know,” Loki muses as he languidly runs his index finger through the icing. “It’s quite fascinating, I must say.”

“What is?” Coulson asks despite himself. Things that fascinate Loki usually scare other people to death.

“The fact that a 73-year-old lady who believes we are engaged is the least irritating human being I have encountered to this day.”

“Yeah, she is nice, isn’t she,” Coulson murmurs half-heartedly and unwinds a roll of sewing silk, which he had no idea he even owned. Apparently, at some point he thought popped buttons were going to be the worst of his problems.

“Thanks for not killing her, by the way,” Coulson adds as he runs the thread through the cake.

Loki scrunches up his nose in disgust. “Why would I do that? It would serve no purpose. And apart from that she seems to be an unlimited source for baked goods. They’re quite delicious. I see no point in cutting off that supply.”

“Right,” Coulson agrees cautiously and drops Loki’s slice onto a fresh plate.

“And what of your findings, Agent Coulson?”

Coulson digs around his drawers for the bluntest forks he can find. “The man you saw is Asil Nazif. He’s a professor at Ankara University. The good news is we have a starting point now.”

“And the bad news?”

“Our starting point is currently MIA somewhere in the Lalvar mountain area in Armenia.”

Loki blinks and then starts to meticulously shave off the icing in thin, exact layers with the fork Coulson hands him. “That’s not much, Agent Coulson. Very disappointing.”

Coulson stabs his own cake with more force than he meant to which makes Loki look up briefly and smirk.

“Well, I admit it’s no match for your epiphanies on mankind but considering I have managed to sneak all of it past our upper echelon so far I think it’s better than nothing,” Coulson says around a mouthful of cake.

Loki stops dissecting his cake and points the icing-covered fork at him. “There is an insult hiding in there somewhere and when I find it I will ram it back down your throat. How does that sound?”

“Difficult.”

“The amount of loathing I hold for you cannot be measured.”

“Mrs Boyd will be devastated,” Coulson concludes and gracefully evades the fork veering towards his face. It gets stuck in the cupboard behind him, which is impressive considering it’s a plastic fork.

\---

Agent Winters sounds reasonably concerned when she calls Coulson early the next morning. Well, if she weren’t troubled Coulson reckons they wouldn’t be having a problem in the first place.

_”Sir, I have to ask you, what exactly are we dealing with here?”_

There are three ways to answer this: One, by pulling rank which Coulson hates to do. Two, diplomatically by providing zero verifiable facts which basically amounts to an information status similar to option number one. And three, truthfully.

“I’m not entirely sure yet. Tell me what you’ve got. I promise I will fill you in later.” It’s a mixture of all of the above.

Agent Winters is quiet for a while - possibly opening several tabs of job offers on her computer. This might be a good move for Coulson as well.

But they’re not there yet.

 _”Well,”_ she says eventually, _”I went to see Nazif’s wife. Nothing special about his work, I would say he’s not even particularly good at it. But he’s got a rather... peculiar hobby.”_

“Peculiar is a relative term.”

 _”Indeed it is, sir,”_ she pauses and Coulson could swear she’s smiling. _”He’s a UFO hunter, sir.”_

Coulson decidedly does not start to laugh. He does pinch the bridge of his nose though and squeezes his eyes shut because _of course_. If there is anything peskier than the press who _believe_ they’ve got something, it’s UFO hunters who _know_ they’ve got something.

 _”Exactly,”_ Winters agrees as if she can tell what Coulson is thinking. Evidence suggests that she actually can. _”Has gotten him into a bit of trouble with a few governments already. They don’t like funny-looking archaeologists with tinfoil hats digging around their military bases.”_

This seems to be a universal problem. International relations would be so much better if government officials were allowed to bond over the woes of keeping conspiracy theorists out of their backyards.

Meanwhile, there is some rustling and general shuffling of papers on the other end of the line. _”It has earned him an overnight stay in jail twice, so far. But he appears to be the persistent type. He’s been collecting bits and pieces of information for years. Went out into the mountains almost every week. Camped out there for days, his wife said. He spent almost all his vacation days travelling to places with alleged UFO sightings. He was heading for Shamlugh River in Armenia when he left.”_

Sadly, if people could be stopped by the prospect of death they wouldn’t be having this problem right now - or any other problem whatsoever.

Coulson flips through the missing person’s report on Nazif, which is sloppy at best. “Is that why the police didn’t bother looking for him?”

 _”Probably,”_ Agent Winters admits. _”Although I did get the feeling that Nazif’s wife was a bit more... open with me than she was with the police.”_

“How so?”

_”She told me the day before he left for his trip he was completely out of it. Kept talking about military helicopters going down and hushed-up reports - the usual conspiracy stuff.”_

“But...?”

Winters clears her throat, hesitating. _”Well, sir. He was right. I was able to get a hold of the corresponding files, which our liaisons in the Armenian military were considerably unhappy to hand out, I might add, and they did indeed have two downed helicopters over the same area within a couple of hours. The pilots could be rescued but they all tell the same story.”_

Coulson has a suspicion of where this is going but for the sake of showing respect for agent Winters’ efforts he lets her continue.

_”All the equipment suddenly shut off. The entire helicopter just... shut down and dropped right out of the sky like a stone. No malfunction, no tampering from outside, no software error or hardware failure that they could find. They just-”_

“Lost all their power?” Coulson suggests. Two helicopters and one Norse god. Clearly not a good day for covert operations.

 _”Yes, sir.”_ She gives him a few moments to elaborate but when he doesn’t she takes the blunt approach. _”Sir, what’s going on? What are we dealing with?”_

Coulson sighs. “I had an agent in the region. He was tracking a group of rebels into the mountains. They kidnapped professor Nazif and were looking for what I believe is the artifact that has caused the military incident you just mentioned.”

_”Has the agent reported back to you yet?”_

Good question.

“He is certainly _back_ , if that’s what you mean.” Coulson replies. He winces slightly.

 _”And he’s not able to give us more information about the artifact?”_ She sounds as if she is questioning Coulson’s recruitment choices. Coulson doesn’t but he is beginning to suspect that Loki is, as so often, only the tip of the iceberg.

“His memory is somewhat fuzzy on the matter.”

The judgemental silence on Winters’ part speaks volumes about her opinion of this agent.

“Is there anything else, Agent Winters?” Coulson asks in his desperation to avoid further questions about Loki.

 _”As a matter of fact, there is,”_ she says and he can clearly picture her miffed glare. _”In the course of my investigation I came across some odd events in the area.”_

 _Odder than the God of Mischief fainting in the middle of the mountains and then ending up in a Care Bear t-shirt on my doorstep?_ Coulson wants to say, but it would sound like he’s wallowing in self-pity, which he isn’t. He would just really like to see anything try and be stranger than _that_.

“Yes?” He prompts her to go on.

_”There have been a couple of power outages in the region.”_

Of course, there would be. It wouldn’t be a Loki-related problem if it didn’t spread, grow legs, and attempt to take over the world.

 _”It’s a bit difficult to get accurate reports from the area,”_ Agent Winters elaborates when Coulson keeps quiet. _”It’s mostly small settlements out there and they tend to take care of themselves. But the blackouts are spreading and a few larger villages have been affected as well. Which is more or less the only reason we even know about this. Sir, can we assume that this has something to do with the artifact?”_

“Yes.” Coulson rubs his temples. He has never had a migraine in his life but it feels like this could become one. “Yes, you can.”

_”Our course of action then, sir?”_

This is beginning to get hard to keep under wraps. There will need to be containment and tactical response units. And people who don’t give a flying fuck about who Agent Coulson is will be asking questions.

“How fast is it spreading?” Coulson inquires. He needs to know how much time he has left to salvage this situation.

_”At walking pace, I would say. Considering that electronic devices seem to be useless in the vicinity of this thing, I suspect they are transporting it on foot or on horseback, which slows them down. But they are moving West and, however slowly, they’ll make it to a capital city eventually and I’m sure you can imagine the chaos that would ensue.”_

Indeed, he can. In fact, all his imagination is based on actual events.

He takes a deep breath and decides that he will have to make good on his promise to Captain Rogers sooner rather than later.

“All right, here’s what I’m going to do,” Coulson concludes. “I’ll send someone over to retrieve the artifact. In the meantime, I want you to secure the perimeter and see to it that the suspects are kept in one place. We’re most likely dealing with hostiles here so take appropriate measures, but don’t engage unless they shoot first. We don’t know what else this thing does or if they have figured out how to weaponize it yet.”

Agent Winters hesitates. _”Sir, you do realize I will have to tell someone about this. I can keep it in my jurisdiction for another day or two if I classify it as a routine mission but-”_

Coulson nods. “I understand. I appreciate your help and your discretion so far.”

 _“Absolutely. I will do what I can,”_ Winters replies and it’s entirely possible that she’s smiling.

He bids her farewell with the promise of follow-up information as soon as he has figured out who to send as support.

\---

Coulson’s choice is shockingly limited. Despite having an entire spy organisation and a team of superheroes at his disposal he finds himself faced with a disturbingly short list of candidates.

He needs someone over there _now_ , which means he can’t send anyone who would be limited by conventional transportation. He won’t get clearance for a jet without a proper explanation anyway. Agent Hill is very adamant about knowing why her birds leave the nest.

Neither can he ask Stark. One, because Stark relies on too much tech and given their experience with the artifact so far this seems ill-advised. And second, this would require revealing information to an individual who perceives any sort of secrecy as an affront to his person. Also, it would take a lot more coaxing than Coulson is currently able to summon.

Which leaves him with one option.

“Thor.”

The thunderer strides up to Coulson in the hallway of HQ, arms outstretched as if to hug him, and smiles brightly. “Son of C-”

Coulson’s smile turns stoney for a second and Thor corrects himself. It took several weeks of careful conditioning to make it clear to Thor that Coulson’s father was not called ‘Coul’, and Coulson is not going to let Pavlov’s dog run amok and ruin his efforts now.

“Agent Coulson.” Thor offers him an apologetic smile and clasps his shoulders. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

Carefully, Coulson steps out of Thor’s reach and adjusts his suit. “Likewise. I wonder, could I have a word with you?”

Thor immediately switches to Concerned German Shepherd mode. “Is everything alright? Has something happened?”

Something has definitely happened and nothing is alright but Coulson is pretty sure he does not want to elaborate on the specifics in the middle of the corridor. People might get hurt.

“No and yes.” Coulson tentatively steers Thor towards the stairs. “We should probably talk about this in private.”

“What is it?” Thor insists and Coulson is beginning to understand why Loki finds him so exhausting. He’s like a train - extremely goal-oriented but if you manage to derail it you’re the one to suffer the consequences.

“Is it Loki?” Thor suddenly asks, stopping dead half-way down the staircase. “I know you have ways of contacting him. Has something happened to him?”

Thor is bleeding honest concern. Other than Coulson, he is probably the only person who will voluntarily talk to Loki. At the same time he’s the only one Loki doesn’t want to talk to. Which leaves Coulson stuck in between as the negotiator who gets perpetually TMI’d. Not that his life was easy before Loki but now it’s the equivalent of a Gordian knot.

Coulson reckons they won’t make it to the interrogation room at this pace so he might as well get it over with. “Yes. But don’t worry, he’s fine. Well, physically at least. I think.”

“What happened?” Thor looks as if he is one step away from shaking it out of Coulson. Not a pleasant prospect.

“Something happened to his magic.” Coulson decides to go for the conversational equivalent of blunt force trauma. Subtlety is not something Thor deals well with - they probably have long-term exposure to Loki to thank for that.

Still, Coulson can see that a mere sheen of politeness is keeping Thor from grabbing Coulson by the collar and demanding to be taken to wherever Loki is.

“What’s going on? Where is he? Take me to him. I can help.”

Coulson is relatively certain that he can’t.

“You can help by following me downstairs so I can bring you up to speed.”

Thor glowers at him for a few moments but Coulson has done his fair share of staring contests and nobody holds a candle to agent Romanova in this regard.

Eventually, Thor nods. “Lead the way.”

\---

“I need you to fly to Armenia.”

Thor’s expression morphs into something that Coulson reads as confusion. “What does this have to do with my brother?”

“We suspect that the artifact that took his powers is still in the area and we need it contained.”

“What makes you think it won’t affect me as well?”

Coulson offers him a sympathetic smile. “The truth is, I don’t. But for all I know you’re not made of magic the same way Loki is and you don’t need jetpacks to fly, so you’re our best bet.”

Thor takes a moment to consider this and then folds his arms in front of his chest. “I want to see my brother first.”

Coulson was afraid it would come to this. If he allows it they will a) lose time and b) it will almost certainly reduce his apartment to rubble. Loki is already nursing an inferiority complex big enough to count as reverse overconfidence, but in his current state he is going to be even worse in Thor’s presence. And _’worse’_ in Loki’s world usually means an expanded radius of destruction.

“I can’t.” Coulson frowns and reconsiders. “I won’t.”

As expected, Thor rises up from his chair to live up to his name as God of Thunder. “You dare refuse m-”

Coulson calmly holds up his hand. “I’m not refusing you, Loki is. He doesn’t want to see you and I won’t force him to. Do I need to remind you what happened last time you two came face to face? That time neither of you was an animal, I mean.”

“This is hardly comparable!” Thor booms and it’s possibly just a matter of seconds before Mjölnir comes crashing through the wall. “He wasn’t sick back then!”

“Neither is he now.” Coulson deadpans. “He’s just... more regular. With frizzy hair.”

Thor slams his fists down onto the table. “I know what his magic means to him. He is suffering, I know it.”

“Then I suggest you help me by going to Armenia and retrieving this artifact.”

Thor blinks in confusion. This is obviously not how he imagined this conversation to go. But Coulson has picked up a thing or two from Loki, especially when it comes to dealing with Thor’s head-through-wall approach. Loki’s people skills may not be the best in regard to humans but his _Thor_ skills are unparalleled.

Thor slumps back down onto his chair, looking utterly exasperated. “Fine. So, where is this... Armenia?”

“Right.”

For Thor ‘Earth’ used to be somebody else’s geography. In his defense, he’s trying. Agent Barton is giving him lessons, although Coulson suspects he is teaching Thor the wrong names. The other day he heard Thor refer to Russia as _Romanovia_. And which country _’Peenistan’_ is Coulson may never know.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s almost midnight when Coulson gets home. To his surprise he finds Loki lounging on the couch, a stack of books next to him on the floor and one in his hand. _’100 Ways To Get Things Done’_ , which Coulson didn’t even know he owned. B.B. King is playing on the stereo in the background.

“You’re late,” Loki remarks and flips a page.

Coulson undoes his tie and ignores the accusatory undertone in Loki’s voice. “By whose standards?”

“By everyone’s, I imagine.” Loki heaves a theatrical sigh and refuses to turn around. “I have been reliably informed that midnight is considered _late_ by general consensus.”

Coulson frowns. “Informed by who?”

Loki wets his fingertips and turns one more page. “Mrs Boyd.”

Coulson rubs his hand over his face. “You were outside again?”.

The book lands on the floor with a sudden _thud_ and Loki whirls around, finally gracing Coulson with his full attention-slash-anger.

“No, Agent Coulson. As a matter of fact, I was a good boy today and stayed inside, whiling away the time with your agonizingly small book collection-,” he picks up the _’Atlas To Human Anatomy’_ and waves it at Coulson in a way that suggests he might throw it. “-I have read this _three times_ since you left this morning. I could perform surgery all by myself by now and let me tell you, the urge to practice on a live specimen is becoming exceedingly hard to control.”

He tosses the heavy compendium back onto the stack as he continues his tirade. “And just as I was busy being a tremendously obliging guest, your neighbour pounds on the door and forces her way inside.”

Coulson’s right eyebrow travels upward, forgetting to invite the other along. “She _forced_ her way in inside? She’s seventy three years old. How exactly did she-”

Loki barks out a laugh that is two parts terrifying and one part resignation. “Oh, believe me, she has her ways. She uses food as weaponry.”

He gestures at an inconspicuous tin-foil covered plate on the kitchen counter. “She was worried you didn’t eat well when doing such long shifts and brought you... I don’t even know what it is, but it smells like the jug of goat milk Thor once forgot in his room for a week.”

Coulson eyes the plate. “You could have thrown it away?”

Loki slumps back and shoots him a dark look. “I am convinced she would have noticed.”

“Through the walls?”

“She can smell fear.”

“She can’t even smell when her cat peed on the carpet.”

“The cat does not fear her.”

Coulson blinks and replays the conversation in his mind. No, it’s just as strange the second time around.

“Funny,” Coulson muses as he goes and places the offending item in the fridge. “You liked her well enough yesterday.”

“I never said I didn’t like her.” Loki sounds perplexed. “Quite the contrary. If one had a few hundred like her-”

The sound of Coulson’s phone fortunately stops this particular train of thought. An army consisting of Mrs Boyd clones is not something Coulson wants to spend the rest of his night discussing.

He steals away into the privacy of his bedroom and greets the caller, “Agent Winters.”

 _”Sir.”_ If there ever was a tone of voice conveying the prospect of bad news it would be hers.

Coulson discards his jacket and preemptively sits down on the side of his bed. “Has Thor met up with you yet?”

 _”Well...,”_ she says and Coulson does not like the sound of it. _”He’s here, if that’s what you mean.”_

Coulson sighs. “What did he break?”

 _”Actually? Nothing.”_ Coulson has heard more reassuring news. _”See, we had him on our radar as he was entering Armenian air space and everything was fine until he suddenly... vanished.”_

“Define ‘vanished’.”

_”Well, when I say vanished I mean he fell out of the sky like a dead bird, sir.”_

Of course.

Coulson rubs the bridge of his nose, desperately fending off the impending headache that comes with being eerily able to predict the worst possible outcome. “Don’t tell me. He’s lost his powers?”

_”It appears so, sir.”_

“Is he alright?”

 _”A few scrapes and bruises from the landing but otherwise he seems to be in best godly condition.”_ She clears her throat. _”He’s, ah... he’s pretty upset, sir.”_

“Understandable.” Hitting the ground at near supersonic speed would upset anyone.

_”Well, yes, obviously he’s upset about the loss of his powers, but it’s actually more like... He can’t lift his hammer, sir. We had to leave it out there in the mountains when we picked him up. He didn’t like that at all.”_

That, too, Coulson can understand. Last time Thor had to part with his hammer they had to relocate an entire town. But it’s not the first time Mjölnir was left somewhere on its own and judging by previous attempts chances are pretty slim that anyone will steal it.

“There is nothing we can do about that for now. He’ll just have to cope.”

 _”Yes, sir.”_ Agent Winters is obviously not pleased with the suggestion. _”He also wants to talk to you.”_

Coulson groans. “Yes, I thought he might.”

_”Should I tell him you’re busy?”_

“I doubt that will help.”

_”Indeed, Sir.”_

“Where is he right now?”

_”In the canteen, sir. I think he’s searching for something alcoholic. I told them to lock all the supplies in the freezer. It might keep him occupied for a while.”_

“Good thinking, agent.”

 _”Thank you, sir.”_ She pauses once more. _”What’s our course of action now? I have a cranky Norse god over here and I doubt I can keep him a secret for much longer.”_

Welcome to the club. They should start a swap meet.

Coulson rests his elbows on his thighs and studies the blank surface of the bedroom door in quiet contemplation before answering, “Fine. I’ll take it to Director Fury first thing in the morning. I just need to... gather a final piece of evidence.”

It’s probably going to be kicking and screaming. Or at least, biting and hissing.

“In the meantime I want you to take Thor, give him something to hit people over the head with, and get a team out there to take down the rebel camp,” Coulson continues in the hopes that if a thousand foot drop can’t kill Thor, a couple of militant Nomads can’t either. “Do not, I repeat, _do not_ move the artifact. Extract Professor Nazif and set up a perimeter. I’ll... call you back if I’m still working tomorrow.”

Coulson likes to think that she is smiling when she answers, _”Will do, sir.”_

The phone call ends and Coulson takes a deep, calming breath before heading back into the living room where Loki has taken to marking vital organs on a drawing in _’Atlas To Human Anatomy’_. His additions include long hair and a beard, along with a cape and a hammer.

As far as hints go this is a fairly explicit one.

Coulson sits down on the coffee table (because Loki takes up the entire couch) and studies Loki for a while until it becomes evident that if there is ever going to be a conversation, Coulson will have to be the one to strike it up.

“I’ll have to bring you in,” Coulson announces without preamble. It does have the desired effect of causing Loki to look up at him in confusion, which is quickly followed by disbelief, and eventually plain, black-hearted amusement.

“I think not,” Loki says with a disdainful smirk and returns to scribbling in the book in his lap.

Time for the strong arms then.

“It’s not just you anymore,” Coulson ventures and if he were less observant the sudden tension in Loki’s shoulders would have gone by him.

“I sent Thor to retrieve the artifact.” He throws it out there and Loki goes from attentive to bristling in 0.5 seconds.

Loki gives a derisive snort. “Clearly, there is no way this could ever go wrong.”

“True,” Coulson concedes. “Although, probably not in the way you think. He lost his powers too.”

And that does the trick. There’s a shitstorm of emotions battling for the upper hand in Loki’s expression ranging all the way from malicious glee to vague concern. Eventually, he settles for a nonchalant kind of ignorance that is about as convincing as the voice-overs in late night television. Thor is like an antidote to Loki’s lies and perfectly crafted facades. Or like a jackhammer, if one prefers the hit-and-run approach.

“He’s fine, by the way,” Coulson adds before Loki can adamantly _not_ ask about it.

“You are laboring under the delusion that I care.”

“And you’re normally a better actor. We all have bad days. Anyway, the thing is, _I do care_. And I can’t possibly keep this under wraps anymore.”

Loki’s eyebrows knit together in the sort of menacing scowl that promises sharp objects in various body parts. “How exactly is this my problem?”

Coulson has the patience of a saint, as a matter of fact, he could probably outdo all of them in this department, but he has had enough of this.

He reaches out and tugs the book from Loki’s lap in one swift move. “It’s your problem because whatever this is, it started with you. You were the first one who got affected, and now it’s causing blackouts and has blasted your brother out of the sky. At this rate, we’ll be sitting in the dark by the end of the week with nothing left but a few oddballs in fancy suits. If we want to stop this, and if you want your magic back, this is your best chance.”

For a moment it looks as if Loki might test his findings on human anatomy on Coulson, but then he snorts and shakes his head. “They won’t believe you. They will lock me in a cage and be done with it.”

“I won’t pretend they’ll be happy about seeing you, but if I vouch for you we might be able to-”

“ _Vouch for me_?” Loki interjects, his expression stuck somewhere between rage and disgust. “I don’t need anyone to vouch for me.”

The _’least of all you’_ goes unsaid, but Coulson knows it’s there. It’s always there. Loki holds disregard for the human race on the best of days and this whole ordeal has probably not helped change his mind. But the other shoe is going to drop eventually. Loki needs their help a lot more than they need him at the moment and it’s only Coulson’s unwavering opinion that _no one_ gets left behind that keeps him from leaving Loki in the proverbial ditch.

“Maybe,” Coulson admits, firmly holding Loki’s gaze. “But they do. And _you_ need someone on your side who believes you.”

When Loki merely continues to look as if he’ll forego surgical instruments altogether and will simply rip Coulson’s throat out with his bare hands, Coulson leans back and shrugs. “Feel free to try and get your mojo back on your own, but remember that it took you over a week to get here without your magic. You’ll be alone, exposed, and apart from presumably superhuman strength and a bag full of snark, you’ll also be pretty defenseless against the type of enemies you like to make. Wouldn’t hurt to have some backup, would it?”

Loki regards him intensely for a moment before slumping back in order to seethe in silence.

“All right.” There is only so much Coulson can do. So he stands up and throws Loki a last bone. “Listen, think about it and if you’re still here in the morning, we’ll get this sorted out together. If not I’ll consider our deal terminated and you’re fair game again. Yes?”

Loki scowls at him but refuses to say anything so Coulson figures they’re done for the night. He leaves Loki to quietly sulk in the dark and slouches into his bedroom where he barely makes it out of his pants before falling asleep on his covers.

\---

The first thought in Coulson’s mind when he wakes up is _Defense!_. He blindly grabs whatever is blocking the light and goes for the gun under his pillow. He brings both together with the kind of trained speed that was honed by numerous mornings spent in unfavorable company.

“Good morning.” Loki presents him with a lopsided grin and delicately disentangles Coulson’s fingers from the collar of his - _borrowed_ \- shirt.

“You mind?” He points at Coulson’s death grip.

Coulson lets the safety snap back into place and releases Loki, who grimaces and smoothes out the wrinkles in his collar.

“So, I take it that’s a yes?” Coulson mumbles while rubbing his eyes with the palm of his free hand.

Loki moves to stand at the foot of the bed and works hard to look dignified in a shirt that’s two sizes too small for him. “Well, I have taken your proposal into account and I have come to the conclusion that-”

“You’d be screwed without me?”

Loki’s smile is thin and absolutely humorless. “Your choice of words is, as so often, most refined.”

“It’s six in the morning and I almost shot you in the head,” Coulson grumbles and waddles past Loki whose questioning look makes him realize that he’s slept in his shirt and boxers. “Eloquence is the least of my worries right now.”

“Indeed,” Loki says with a smirk as he steps aside to allow Coulson to rummage around in his wardrobe.

Coulson glances over his shoulder. “And stop looking at my butt.”

\---

Loki makes surprisingly little fuss apart from the occasional nasty remark. Coulson grabs a few bites of Mrs Boyd’s sandwich from last night, and off they go to save the day or - more likely - make it worse for everyone else. 


	5. Chapter 5

“When I get my magic back, I will turn you into a toad and cook you alive!” Loki shouts as S.H.I.E.L.D. security tackles him in droves, despite the fact that he, quite willingly, surrendered. Coulson assured them he was no threat but they weren’t convinced.

“See, that’s the spirit,” Coulson responds in the worst attempt of encouragement the world has ever seen. “You said ‘when’, not ‘if’.”

“Slow and agonizing! Remember that, Agent Coulson!” Loki screams as they drag him off towards the holding cells - for lack of anywhere else to put a supposedly powerful deity.

“You’ll have to beat Fury to it first,” Coulson murmurs and watches the small battalion leave the main entrance hall.

“Agent Coulson.”

And there he is.

“A word, if you please.” Fury says. He has obviously followed the whole scene from up in the gallery and is now giving Coulson the _You-Are-So-Deep-In-Shit-A-Compost-Heap-Will-Look-Inviting-From-Here-On-Out_ glare.

Fury turns around, his leather coat billowing behind him and Coulson sighs. The crowd of agents that were attracted by the hubbub parts for Coulson as he makes his way towards Fury’s office. He marches past a stunned agent Barton and a skeptical Black Widow.

“Sir, was that who I think it was?” Barton asks but Coulson merely holds up his hand and walks on.

“Later,” Coulson says and the last thing he hears before he rounds the corner is Barton’s vaguely panicked question:

“Tash, did you know about this? Please tell me you didn’t know about this. I’m gonna look like such an asshole if I was the only one without a clue.”

\---

There is a good reason why Nick Fury is the head of S.H.I.E.L.D.. No amount of training can prepare you for a Nick Fury style interrogation.

It starts with staring. Calm, intense, unwavering - like the deceptively thick congealed layer of lava over a boiling pool of magma.

It can go on for hours. Coulson has seen him do it countless times. Granted, he tended to be on the other side of a one-way mirror with a bag of Doritos to enjoy the show, but the fact remains that he’s witnessed this technique often enough to have developed a few countermeasures.

The trick is to not squirm. And pretend there is no eye-patch.

The minutes tick by until Fury leans back in his chair, obviously giving up on trying to unnerve Coulson. “I had my suspicions, of course. Even more, I was fucking _sure_ you were up to something. The only thing you had going for you up to this point was that I couldn’t prove anything, which is a masterstroke considering I’m the highest authority around here.”

Coulson stays quiet. He knows it’s not a compliment.

“I let you get away with it because, frankly, your idea was still better than some of the shit that’s been hitting my desk lately. And no matter how many petitions Wilson starts, ‘stoning someone with rubber ducks filled with kerosene and then setting them on fire’ is not, nor will it ever be standard procedure,” Fury continues and Coulson nods sympathetically. He’s seen Wilson’s request forms. There’s a pretty decent script for a horror movie in there.

Sadly, Fury can’t find any humor in this at all. He gestures in the general direction of the cell block. “But this, _this_ , what the hell did you expect me to do?”

“I expect us to help him,” Coulson states truthfully. There is neither time nor need to beat around the bush.

Fury shoots him a look as if Coulson has officially gone off the deep end. “Excuse me? Are we talking about the same guy here? Because last time I checked, Loki wasn’t one for olive branches.”

“It’s not a peace offering, sir. He came to me for help and last time _I_ checked that’s what we do when one of our agents is in trouble.” For what it’s worth, this is about as insubordinate as Coulson has ever been. But that’s what you get when you spend too much time with Loki. Your perception of authority gets... fuzzy.

Accordingly, Fury presents him with the sort of smile that usually precedes people _disappearing_ under suspicious circumstances. “You’ve got some balls bringing up that argument, Coulson.”

“I sure hope so, sir. I check every day.”

Fury snorts. “Don’t push it, Coulson. You’re operating on thin ice here.”

Well, what else is new. Ice is a common enough occurrence in Loki’s presence.

“I know,” Coulson agrees. “But, technically, sir, so is he. All I’m saying is that he’s giving us a chance so we should do the same for him.”

“A chance? Chance for what? Getting stabbed in the back?” Fury shakes his head. “For all I know, this could be a ploy to remove us from the universe.”

Coulson tries not to point out that ruling over an empty planet would be pointless as well as boring. Loki wants to _rule_ , not play ping-pong by himself.

Coulson leans forward and beckons Fury to do the same. “Boss, when he came to my place he was wearing a Care Bear t-shirt and yellow Nikes. You know him. If his suit isn’t worth more than the GNP of a small country, it’s not him. He would never willingly humiliate himself like that for a long con. He’s got standards.”

Fury raises his visible eyebrow. “Are we basing executive decisions on your opinion of Loki’s fashion sense now?”

Coulson shrugs, a bit helpless. “Would you like the gut instinct explanation any better?”

“Fair point,” Fury agrees. He studies Coulson for a while and it’s impossible to say which way the verdict will go.

After a few torturous moments Fury narrows his eye and Coulson tenses ever so slightly.

“Which Care Bear?” Fury asks.

“I’m sorry?”

“Which Care Bear was on his t-shirt?”

“Cheer Bear, sir.”

“You’re right. Clearly, he would have gone for Grumpy Bear.”

Coulson smirks. “Are we basing executive decisions on Loki’s affinity for certain Care Bears now?”

“No.” Fury points at Coulson, all traces of amusement gone. “I am basing it on _you_. I’m gonna let him out, but if he so much as trips someone on the corridor I’ll have him dumped in the Atlantic with an anchor tied to his legs, clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sit down, we’re not done yet. I want you to shadow his every move 24/7. I don’t care if you don’t sleep, eat, or step out to take a piss. And if anything happens it’ll be on you. Understand?”

Coulson nods. “Absolutely, sir. 24/7, got it.”

“And keep him out of my sight.”

“Will do.” Coulson stands up and means to leave the office when Fury calls him back.

“One more thing,” Fury says as Coulson turns around. “How exactly did you get the god of psychotic disorders to join our cause?”

Coulson smiles. It’s funny how people seem to be most interested in how he did it when the real question they should be asking is _‘Why is Loki going along with it?’_.

“I told him the truth,” Coulson replies and Fury frowns.

“The truth about what?”

“Ruling, sir.”

Fury _almost_ smiles. “And what _is_ the truth about ruling?”

Coulson shrugs his shoulders. “That it sucks.”

“Truer words have never been spoken.” Fury laughs and simultaneously throws Coulson out of his office. “Now get out. Before I decide it might be a good idea to lock you up too.”

\---

“Well, that took longer than I expected,” Loki grumbles as the cell door whirrs open.

“This is the worst time to try and lose your only friend in this place.” Coulson sighs and sets the bundle of clothes he’s brought from storage down on the only chair in the cell.

“Oh?” Loki quirks one eyebrow and strolls over to inspect Coulson’s offering. “We’re friends now?”

“In a professional sense,” Coulson amends but it’s clear from the way Loki grins at him that it’s too late. He’s never going to hear the end of this. “Shut up and put these on. We’ve got work to do.”

Loki turns the standard S.H.I.E.L.D. zip-up vest over in his hands and makes a face. “When it comes to staying safe, I doubt these will help.”

He taps the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on the sleeve. “As far as I remember more than a few of my enemies are also yours.”

“They didn’t have any bullet-proof vests in your size. But I can ask doctor Banner to play shield for you, if you like?”

Loki’s face contorts into something that demonstrates quite nicely what it might look like if you stepped into a pile of dog shit and hit your toe in the process.

“Just put it on.” Coulson shoves the rest of the clothes at Loki and signals at the cameras to cut off the video feed. Then he turns around to wait outside. “With a bit of luck you’ll blend in well enough so that nobody will shoot you on sight.”

“You are a rightful ray of sunshine, Agent Coulson,” Loki mocks. “One would think you were the one locked up in here.”

Coulson rolls his eyes. “Half a day. It was half a day.”

There is a short period of silence, accentuated by the rustling of clothes, that eventually ends with the sound of a zipper being pulled up.

“Longer than necessary,” Loki says as he steps out of the cell, all clad in S.H.I.E.L.D. gear. It’s disturbing, to say the least. Granted, Coulson would never be so stupid as to hand Loki anything other than recreational clothing but it’s still weird to see Loki walk around with their emblem on his chest.

At least the color suits him. Nobody wears black like Loki.

“So,” Loki intones as they start walking, “what sort of deal did you have to strike with Fury?”

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary...” Coulson says with a barely-there sigh. “You’re just stuck with me for a while longer. And you are to refrain from anything you might consider fun.”

Loki inclines his head and squints, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “I consider a good book fun. Am I not allowed to read?”

“To be on the safe side? No.”

“Damn.”

\---

Filling in the rest of the Avengers is more a matter of getting their attention rather than a breakdown of facts. They seem awfully distracted by Loki who, in turn, delights in the opportunity to make everyone feel uncomfortable.

“Shouldn’t he be, like... _blue_ or something?” Barton catches up to Coulson as they file into the conference room.

“Oh, for the love of-,” Loki whirls around, nearly going for Barton’s throat, “It’s _not magic_!”

“Hey pal, shush! Not talking to you.” Barton shoots Loki an angry glare and turns to Coulson for an answer. “So, how’s he doing it?”

Coulson, for his part, can only shrug and point at Loki. “What he said.”

While Loki grins triumphantly Barton keeps looking from one to the other with an air of perplexity.

“You two need to stop hanging out,” Barton declares and marches off to shoo Stark from his spot next to Natasha.

In retaliation Barton keeps suggesting ways for Loki to ‘level up’ in order to get his powers back for the rest of the meeting. Mushrooms are probably not going to do the trick though.

Agent Romanova readies a small arsenal under the table, Captain Rogers merely sits there and stoically ignores Loki, Banner retreats to the far end of the conference table and continues to eye Loki from there, and Stark calls Loki every fictional wizard name he can think of. 

And that’s the easy part. Thor is on his way back from Armenia and judging by the way Loki flinches at the mere suggestion of seeing his brother, Coulson will either have to tranq both of them or rent a boxing ring. He might even start a betting pool, in case Barton hasn’t already done that.

The vague hope remains that Loki will put his vengeance on the backburner for now and focus on getting a handle on the situation. It would be in his best interest after all.

The artifact has been successfully contained, the professor has been rescued and is now coping with the shock of meeting an actual god (as deprived of his powers as Thor might be, he still makes for a rather divine impression), and the rebels are supposedly doing the same, only in the hospital. But the difficulty lies in getting anyone with technical equipment near the artifact to, at the very least, poke it and see if it bites.

To everyone’s surprise, Banner offers to fly to Armenia to do some tests and, with Stark’s help from home base, figure out how to move this thing.

“What? I _am_ a scientist, remember? Scientists go places. It’s not as if I’m offering to fly to the moon.”

Coulson can almost smell Loki’s desire to say something nasty. Fortunately, he never gets to say it out loud due to Captain Rogers making a valid point.

“Sorry to put a damper on things but how can we be sure that it won’t affect Bruce too?” Rogers muses. “I mean, it cleared Thor right out of the sky, didn’t it?”

Loki’s grin grows a little bit wider.

“Well, it seems to have a certain radius of operation,” Banner argues, nervously fiddling with his glasses as if he expects someone to call him out on an error. “And it appears to have no effect on, well, regular humans if you will. So, if I stay out of its reach and just supervise from a safe distance I should be fine. And really, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Rogers arches his eyebrows. “Erm, you smashing up Armenia? No offense but it’s a verifiable risk, don’t you think?”

Banner smiles. The good doctor knows his shortcomings better than anyone but the times he’s taken offense in anyone pointing them out are in the past. This group would be in real trouble if they weren’t.

“Actually, quite the contrary,” Banner explains, looking strangely hopeful. “The artifact takes powers away so it’s in fact possible it might do away with the other guy entirely. And to my knowledge that’s the only... remotely useful super skill I have.”

“Well, if we play it like that I might as well go too,” Stark chips in and Coulson answers Loki’s perplexed glance with a wordless shake of his head. Explaining Stark’s perpetual attraction to accidental suicide would take days.

“Yeah,” Barton snorts. “I can totally see that working out with that _heart of glowy energy_ of yours. No worries that you might drop dead or something.”

“You-,” Stark rounds the table because apparently he is incapable of sitting still, “-shut up or I’ll tell Baba Yaga here what you said earlier about his magic stick.”

“And what’s he gonna do about it?” Barton rises from his chair and Coulson preemptively settles one hand on his taser, just in case. “He can’t even do a fucking card trick right now.”

Coulson momentarily loses track of the conversation on account of Loki soundlessly slipping out of his chair and strolling across the room.

“I am beginning to get the feeling I am not your biggest problem,” Loki whispers as he leans in from behind.

“On some days,” Coulson agrees with a sorrowful nod and squares his shoulders for the next bit.

“Would you like me to help?” Loki’s self-satisfied smirk is almost tangible.

“Will it involve sharp objects?”

“Only upon request.”

By now the argument has left its initial point far behind and is puttering around somewhere in the galaxy of _Fuck You_ on a little space ship called _Shut Your Face Or I’ll Shut It For You_.

Coulson sighs. “What do you want in return?”

“Better accommodation,” Loki says without hesitation. “The room you have given me is a joke.”

“This isn’t a vacation,” Coulson hisses while reaching out to pluck the ball-pen-turned-syringe from agent Barton’s hand. “And we’re not a spa.”

Loki shrugs and retreats. “Fine. Then I shall leave you to it.”

Disarming Natasha is a lot more difficult considering she, as a whole, is a weapon. Coulson ceases his efforts after the third knife and hurries to stop Loki from walking out.

“Alright. But if anyone so much as pricks their finger I’ll let them loose on you. Understood?”

Loki’s smile is both horrifying and impossibly smug. It’s fascinating how often these two coincide on his face. Loki foregoes any further explanation and simply bows as if he were actually doing Coulson’s bidding. He saunters through the verbal battlefield to pick up a random coffee mug and winks at Coulson before he drops it on the ground.

Naturally, everyone’s attention snaps back to Loki (including one knife and something that looks like a stapler).

“Oops.” The most insincere expression yet graces Loki’s features as he observes the various states of alertness in the group. “But since I seem to have your attention now allow me to ask you a question. Does it not strike you as odd that the artifact has not been found until now? It wasn’t hidden all that well if you think about it. Merely sitting there in a cave. A very deep cave, granted, but without any additional safety measures, not even a gateway. What might we deduce from that?”

Stark stares mournfully at the mess on the ground. “That you just smashed my favorite coffee mug.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Oh please. You have a whole cupboard full of those.”

“But they aren’t my favorite.”

“Can we focus, please? Guy’s got a point,” Rogers interjects, ever the voice of reason, and nods at Coulson. “You said it downed two helicopters before it was found?”

“Yes, sir,” Coulson confirms. _Now_ they are getting somewhere. Loki is going to be insufferable about this.

Rogers narrows his eyes. “Were there any other incidents before that?”

Coulson shakes his head. “None on record, sir.”

“Maybe the helicopters triggered it,” Banner muses but Stark isn’t convinced.

“Then why didn’t it pull, say, passenger airplanes out of the sky?” Stark argues. “It certainly has the capacity.”

Rogers squints. “The mountain perhaps? I mean, that’s a lot of rock. If it was a military manoeuvre the helicopters might have flown closer to the ground.”

It’s beautiful, watching this kindergarten fight evolve into a science study group. It would be even more satisfying if Loki stopped gloating.

Meanwhile, Banner is back in full science mode and is effectively dragging Stark along. “So the mountain might have acted as a shield all this time and only the increased proximity by bringing it above ground caused it to engage.” Banner nods to himself, tapping his glasses against his chin. “Possible.”

“If we could construct a similar barrier around it we might be able to move it,” Banner concludes and Captain Rogers nods cautiously.

Stark makes a dismissive gesture. “Piece of cake. Just get Bruce on the phone once he’s down there and we’ll have this baby home by dinner.”

Some discussion regarding technicalities follows but Coulson pays little attention to it. He radios the Helicarrier and tells them to prep a jet for immediate departure.

In the midst of all of this Loki ambles over to him, leaning in briefly.

“You’re welcome.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Better?” Coulson inquires as Loki sets out to inspect his new lodgings.

“Whose quarters are these?” Loki skips over Coulson’s question and instead closely examines a couple of posters behind glass. They are old movie posters, originals even, and Coulson has been expressly warned that if Loki draws any mustaches on them there are going to be _consequences_.

“Captain Rogers has kindly agreed to lend you his rooms for the time being,” Coulson says and braces himself for Loki’s reaction.

When Loki turns around his grin is sharp enough to cut glass. “Oh, did he _kindly_ do so?”

“Well, if you must know he said he would string you up by your privates if you so much as move the furniture,” Coulson replies and starts indicating the adjoining rooms. “Okay so, kitchen is over there, bathroom, toilet, I think you know the drill. Have a good night.”

Loki nods absentmindedly and sinks down onto the massive couch dominating the living room area. He avoids sitting anywhere near the handmade quilt that is covering most of it. Coulson remembers the group of elderly ladies who insisted it be given to Captain America as thanks for saving them. It’s practically glowing with maternal warmth and gratitude.

“Wait,” Loki calls out, looking for all it’s worth as if Coulson is about to leave him alone at Walmart. “Where are you going?”

Coulson suppresses an exasperated sigh. “Going to pick up your brother. He’s scheduled to arrive downstairs in a couple of minutes. I don’t suppose you’d like to join me?”

Loki sits bolt upright. “He’s coming _here_?”

“Where else did you think we were going to bring him? He _lives here_. Whenever he’s around, anyway.”

If Loki had his magic Coulson is pretty sure the whole place would be one giant freezer by now. Loki’s eyes turn into angry little slits when he says, “If you bring him up here I will rip the skin off your flesh and have you eat it.”

Coulson adds it to the list of creative deaths Loki has promised him. “I’ll keep that in mind. However, Thor does know how to operate an elevator so this-,” Coulson gestures at the panel next to the door, “-is an intercom. I suggest you tell him yourself.”

As expected, Loki is up on his feet in an instant. “You impertinent little bug, how dare you-”

Contrary to common belief Coulson still does not take kindly to being referred to as any form of insect. He clenches his jaw and doesn’t budge.

“Let me stop you right there,” Coulson interjects as calmly as possible and Loki’s anger momentarily transforms into an aggressive sort of confusion. “You really think there wasn’t a reason why I set you up in a room at HQ? You asked to be moved and I seem to remember telling you that all the rooms were the same except for the ones up here. You didn’t care. You’ve brought this upon yourself, now deal with it.”

For a minute Loki looks ready to make good on his threat but then he relaxes and merely frowns. “Still, you should have mentioned this is where Thor stays when he’s on one of his stupid fleeting visits.”

“We both know what happens when I mention your brother.”

And sure as hell, Loki scrunches up his nose as if Coulson were waving a rotten lemon in his face. “I still don’t want to see him.”

“And I’ll gladly tell him that,” Coulson says, patiently waiting for the elevator doors to open, “but what do you think the chances are that he’s going to listen to me?”

“You could always use your... what’s it called?” Loki makes a vague gesture that could mean someone is getting electrocuted. Or he’s frying eggs in a bouncy castle.

“Taser?” Coulson ventures and steps into the elevator.

Loki grins. “Ah, yes, that’s the one. Use that on him. I hear it works wonders.”

“If I taser him one more time his brain is going to turn to mush.”

“Your point?”

Coulson makes a disapproving face but Loki’s smile merely grows obscenely wider.

“JARVIS, ground floor, please.”

_”Certainly, Agent Coulson.”_

\---

The S.H.I.E.L.D. convoy halts in front of the entrance of the Avengers tower and Coulson braces himself for the impact.

It required some baiting to get Thor to leave Mjölnir behind, but it seems nothing does the trick like the prospect that he’ll get to see Loki. Or, at least, be in the same building as Loki, which is what Coulson is about to tell him.

“You have much explaining to do,” Thor growls as soon as his feet hit the ground. Coulson nods and hurries to walk alongside Thor who strides swiftly through the lobby and towards the elevator.

“Where is he? Where is my brother?” Thor demands. 

Coulson contemplates throwing himself between Thor and the elevator but he doubts that will make any difference, so he simply points upstairs. “He’s on Captain Rogers’ floor.”

“ _Without_ the Captain, of course,” Coulson amends when Thor raises his eyebrows, either in surprise or in silent horror. “Captain Rogers agreed to lend him his rooms for now.”

Thor gives a firm nod. “Then this is where we are heading.”

The elevator doors open obediently for him and Coulson does the most ill-advised thing he can think of: He steps between the God of Thunder and a cabin suspended over a several story drop.

Naturally, Thor scowls at him, ready to fight his way upstairs if necessary.

“He-,” Coulson stops and tries to think of a diplomatic way of saying it. There isn’t one. “He doesn’t want to see you, I’m afraid.”

Thor leans in and even without his powers, his mere presence can make the hairs on the back of Coulson’s neck stand up. “And since when do you speak for my brother?”

That’s a really good question, come to think of it.

Coulson sighs but doesn’t back down. If this were Barton hiding from Natasha he would do the same. Only, Barton would get all his vacation days retracted for it.

“Apparently, since about ten minutes ago,” Coulson states.

Thor presents him with a grim smile as if Coulson just affirmed his worst suspicions. “So, he has turned you into his messenger boy.”

Coulson returns Thor’s smile with a friendlier edge. _’Messenger boy’_ is still oodles better than any form of creepy crawlers.

“I’ve done worse for less,” Coulson admits with a shrug.

Thor seems to realize that he won’t win this argument with insults. He takes a step back, holding up his hands in a gesture of apology. “Forgive me, I did not mean to question your integrity.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Coulson waves it off and risks a tiny smirk. “I’m used to it. Your brother has a knack for that sort of thing.”

“Indeed he does,” Thor agrees, and if that is not the saddest smile in existence then Coulson doesn’t know what is. Thor folds in on himself like a wet origami sculpture, yet he is not quite ready to give up. “I do very much wish to see him though.”

Coulson relaxes a little, now that Thor isn’t threatening to literally go _through him_ anymore. “You can try. But unless you’re planning on busting through the wall I’m afraid you won’t get very far. And, before you contemplate doing that, think about what kind of response that would prompt from your brother.”

Thor looks like someone who ordered beef and got a muesli bar and is now desperately trying to rectify the situation without breaking anything. “Will you at least deliver a message?”

Messenger boy. Coulson should get some business cards printed. There might be a new career path for him.

“I can try but I can’t promise he’ll listen. What is it?”

“Tell him-,” Thor hesitates, “-tell him, now that we are both deprived of our powers we are-”

Coulson really doesn’t mean to let his doubts show but, clearly, they do.

Thor pauses in mid-rambling. “What? Not good?”

Coulson wiggles his hand. “No, no. I’m just wondering if reminding Loki of his current lack of magic is really the best course of action.”

Thor blinks but then nods affirmingly, scratching his chin. “Yes, you are right, of course. Maybe, tell him... perhaps if we... in such troubled times, I mean...”

Coulson knows when someone is doddering about on the steep, slippery slope of diplomacy.

“Listen,” Coulson ventures when Thor’s attempts at finding the right words cease long enough for Coulson to speak up. “Why don’t I just tell him you’re in your room and if he needs anything he can come to you anytime he wants.”

“I fear that is not an offer he is likely to take advantage of,” Thor says with a smile that is fifty percent gratitude and fifty percent disappointment.

“I don’t know.” Coulson gives him an encouraging pat on his massive shoulder and clears the way into the elevator. “Extraordinary circumstances sometimes produce extraordinary results.”

Thor takes the hint and lurches into the cabin, but he doesn’t prompt JARVIS to move it just yet. Instead he stands there like a forlorn rock in a world that’s entirely too small for him and eyes Coulson like someone who just tripped over their own boundaries.

“You know, I sometimes envy you.”

“I’m sorry?” Coulson wouldn’t know what for.

Thor’s shrug is like watching a mountain apologize for its existence.

“You have what I’ve lost. His trust.”

“I don’t think he trusts anyone. Ever,” Coulson says as he verbally tiptoes around the issue.

Thor nods. “And yet he would rather speak to you than me.”

Coulson clears his throat politely because this is developing into a therapy session he did not sign up for. “That’s probably because my existence isn’t significant enough to cause him any trouble.”

Thor laughs, low and unbearably depressing. “You are far from insignificant. You are a good friend, to both of us. I’m glad he found you.”

“Well, technically, I found him,” Coulson clarifies, carefully circumnavigating all implications that may link him and Loki in a relationship other than a strictly professional one.

“Then I’m glad you did.” Thor nods and JARVIS slides the doors closed before Coulson can deny anything.

For another second or two Coulson is rooted to the spot trying to figure out when exactly he became _Loki’s friend_ and if they even have the same definition of the term. Then again, it might have been the moment he didn’t shut the door in Loki’s face.

“We’re not friends. Why would we even- Oh, for God’s sake,” Coulson mumbles as he slowly walks out of the lobby, tapping the speed dial for Cap’s rooms on his phone, absentmindedly motioning at thin air. “JARVIS, don’t take him to Cap’s floor. No matter what he says he can’t actually make you explode right now.”

_”Understood, Sir.”_

Coulson nods and waits for Loki to pick up. If everyone considers them friends he might as well be a damned good one.

_”I hope you are calling to tell me that you have successfully reduced Thor to a heap of slush.”_

It’s past midnight, the number of tedious conversations Coulson has had to endure today has exceeded the maximum of what Coulson considers healthy, and he has zero patience for Loki’s antics. So he makes this short and simple.

“No. But here’s the thing, Thor is on the floor below yours. The way I see it, you can either go downstairs, privately hug it out with him or have some really embarrassing, awkward moments in front of everybody tomorrow, which will essentially shred the last remains of your reputation, not to mention your dignity. Your choice. I’m going home now. Don’t call me unless one of you is dying. Good night.”

He ends the call before Loki can get it into his head to reply. They are not Thor’s _exact_ words, granted, but sometimes the stick works better than the carrot. In any case, he’s off to a blissfully empty home.

This could have actually gone worse.

\---

It is worse.

Not only does Coulson barely get a shuteye, despite the lack of brooding Norse god in the other room, but he also bumps into Thor the next morning, who greets Coulson with a bear-hug and the words: “You are a true friend. I thank you with all my heart.”

Loki follows swiftly on his brother’s heel yet with a considerably less enthusiastic demeanor.

“So, you did go to see him last night,” Coulson muses as they both watch Thor proudly stride down the corridor between the labs.

“He _hugged me_.” Loki visibly shudders. “An unjustifiably large number of times.”

“Did it help?”

“I should get credit for not carving his eyeballs out with a spoon.”

“I’ll make a note of it in your file.”

Loki shoots him a sideways glance. “The times I do not kill anyone are seriously underappreciated.”

“Oh, I think the living appreciate it just fine. You should do it more often.”

“You are made of cruelty and niceties. I should like you but I despise you.”

“I know. It’s complicated. Breakfast?”

“Fine.”


	7. Chapter 7

Between regular S.H.I.E.L.D. business, malfunctioning equipment (Hell, they had a satellite literally falling out of the sky on Tuesday and that’s not even half-time of the week.), coordinating a cross-Atlantic science team, keeping Thor occupied, and the general person of Tony Stark, the week flies by in fast forward.

There is hardly enough time to keep an eye on Loki. Although, at first glance Coulson doesn’t even need to. Whenever Coulson goes to check up on Loki he is behaving relatively nicely (which means he doesn’t call anyone witless or vile, and has ceased to try and make Banner Hulk out by switching the lights on and off wherever the doctor goes).

At closer examination though ‘nice’ is just a symptom of what is about to become a depression of cosmic proportions if they don’t do something about it soon. And since the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. seems to be quite relieved that Loki has lost a couple of villain points it’s up to Coulson to find out just how much misery has accumulated.

Coulson finds Loki in the cafeteria of all places, seated at the far end of the vast room. Everyone else has formed a sort of perimeter around Loki like school kids inconspicuously inching away from the boy who smashed the window.

“I see you’re making friends,” Coulson remarks as he walks up to Loki’s table. There is a mug of coffee in front of Loki, but it’s so stale the liquid has left a residual ring of brown slush along the inside.

Loki’s smile looks as if somebody tried to photocopy it but ran out of ink. He throws a look over his shoulder at the buffer of empty seats and the crowding agents beyond.

“I offered to buy a round but all of a sudden nobody was thirsty.”

“How about that.” Coulson slides into the chair across from Loki, picking up the mug and smelling it. He wrinkles his nose at the stench of cold coffee and puts it aside.

“I suspect you are not here to check on my social activities, are you?”

“Kind of.” Coulson waves at one of the agents trying to look as if they were not eavesdropping and points at Loki’s mug, then at the coffee machine. “Thor is looking for you.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Thor is always looking for me. Let him.”

Coulson has to hand it to Loki - you need to know your brother exceptionally well to conclude that the cafeteria is the only place he is not going to look for you. Or know yourself well enough to realise it’s the last place you actually want to be.

“That’s why _I’m_ here and not him,” Coulson says.

“Do you expect thanks?”

“I’ve stopped expecting any thanks from you since the day we first met.”

Loki’s grin grows in confidence and he glares at the agent who places a fresh mug of coffee on the table with shaking hands. “A wise decision. Now if only the rest of your colleagues would catch on.”

“When this is over you may have more reason to thank them than you think. Just saying.”

“I’ll thank them when they’re dead.”

Coulson frowns but Loki is hell-bent on leaving it at that. Loki’s entire being is like an exposed nerve and Coulson has the feeling that even the gentlest touch will set him off. Granted, it may not end in world domination this time but he may settle for simple mass murder. And knowing Loki he would find a way - even without his magic.

“You know, I get it,” Coulson says carefully, “it’s tough to lose something that’s been with you for as long as you can think but-”

He breaks off because Loki is laughing. It’s the nasty, derogative sort of laugh that typically preludes the engagement of death rays or other apocalyptic machinery. Some agents turn around to look, like deers in the headlights, ready to bail.

“Do you?” Loki chuckles, cold and taunting. “How exactly would you know how it feels to have a part of you ripped out and the rest of you left raw and open and meaningless? Tell me, how would you know? You people have nothing of the sort. Nothing to cling to in the dead of the night.”

The way Loki says _’you people’_ does not sit well with Coulson but he’ll overlook it in favor of not having Loki violently freak out in the middle of the cafeteria.

Coulson smiles, hoping that it looks calming. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

It usually pays to make ambiguous statements. Loki likes ambiguous. It intrigues him - sometimes lethally so.

“Really now?” Loki leans back as if he is listening to a joke he already knows the punchline of. “Then tell me, what does the great agent Coulson rely on when all else has failed?”

Coulson shrugs. “Faith.”

“Faith?” Loki bursts out laughing, causing a couple of agents to jump in their seats. He eyes Coulson, a disdainful smile still playing around his lips. “I am disappointed. I expected a little more from you.”

“Oh well, it’s not faith in anything specific.” Coulson retains his smile. “It’s more like... trust. On a general level.”

“Trust? In what?”

“That everything’s gonna be alright.”

Loki looks as if he is suppressing another giggle fit but eventually just raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “That’s it? That’s what gets you through the night?”

“It’s worked so far. And it’s damned hard to get rid of,” Coulson replies.

“I bet you I would manage.” Loki’s grin is back to its usual trickster-level which is several notches down from homicidal maniac and therefore comparatively good news.

“Others have tried.” Coulson gestures at the rest of, well, basically humanity. “Still here.”

“Others,” Loki says sharply, “aren’t _me_.”

“That’s true,” Coulson agrees. “But how about we get you back on track first? You clearly haven’t given up on your plans of ruling some place so why do I get the feeling you’re giving up on this whole magic thing?”

“I’m sorry, I’m confused, is this supposed to be a pep talk?”

“Is it working?”

Loki cocks his head to the side and squints. “Well, my urge to maim you and make a footstool out of your bones has certainly risen...”

And they are back to Defcon 3 which is the lowest the Loki threat level ever goes. Coulson is fine with being the single target of Loki’s anger because it means there will be little to no collateral damage.

“I guess that’s good enough for now,” Coulson decides and gets up to leave. “Now get your ass to the lab. They’re bringing in the artifact. You’ll be needed up there.”

Loki looks at him with a mixture of marvel and contemplation before firmly grabbing a hold of Coulson’s arm and quite effectively stopping him. Meanwhile, several agents go for their guns but Coulson subtly signals them to stand down.

Loki’s eyes narrow as if he is trying to read the answer on Coulson’s face before he’s even posed the question. “Why are you helping me? Why do you even _care_?”

“Haven’t we had this conversation already?” Coulson doesn’t even try to free his arm.

“Remind me again, would you?”

“You’re one of my agents, that’s why,” Coulson says.

Loki’s expression bleeds into a wicked grin as he finally lets go. “Oh, but I’m not. Not really. You like to think that I am but we both know this can never last.”

Coulson demonstratively straightens his sleeves and holds Loki’s stare. “Well, then I guess it’s your lucky day because as long as I consider you one of my agents, I’ll help you. You’re with us, we’re with you. That’s how it works.”

“What do you think this will gain you? At best, and I would not count on it, we would go back to our previous arrangement.”

“I’d say that’s something.”

Loki shakes his head. “No. You must have some kind of ulterior motive.”

“World peace, possibly?” Coulson suggests, for lack of other secret agendas.

Loki grimaces. “Funny. What else?”

“Well-,” Coulson’s pager beeps - a sign that the convoy bearing the artifact is approaching, “-mainly, I just want to not be wrong about you.”

Loki smirks. “I suppose that strongly depends on your opinion of me.”

“Oh, if I started having opinions about people I’d be in trouble,” Coulson concludes and glances out the window where the group of S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles has just come into view.

“Not even personal?” Now Loki is just poking fun at him.

“You want my personal opinion of you? Fine,” Coulson says and forces the coffee mug into Loki’s hands before ushering him out of his chair. “You’re a horrible roommate. Now let’s go. I don’t know for how long I can keep telling Thor you’re on the toilet.”

“ _That’s_ what you told him?” Loki is so utterly perplexed about this that he even allows Coulson to steer him through the crowd of gawking agents.

“It was either that or tell him you’ve died. He wasn’t going to give up otherwise.”

“You should have gone with the latter.”

“And then deal with a sad Thunder God? No, thank you.”

\---

Not even five minutes later, Coulson gets a call from Ops Center requesting his presence. Judging by the alarming number of times Director Fury’s name is mentioned Coulson had better hurry. He dumps Loki in the elevator, reminding him to not kill anyone, and makes his way downstairs.

Coulson hasn’t even reached the entrance hall when the alarm goes off and JARVIS politely informs him that Stark’s vital signs have taken a worrying dive and that he should probably come upstairs in case anyone needs shooting.

The way Coulson sees it he has two choices, both of which will make somebody angry. He decides that one of the greatest minds of the 21st century possibly dying trumps whatever Ops Center needs him for. He rushes back to the elevator and tells JARVIS to call in every available agent in the vicinity.

What he gets are Barton and four other agents, one of which is clutching a half-eaten donut between his teeth. They skid around the corner just as Coulson opens the door to the lab where the alarm was triggered.

The view that presents itself is somewhat chaotic.

Dr Banner is leaning over Stark, who is barely holding himself up by way of the work bench. Stark looks like he is going to have breakfast backwards but a quick scan of his person tells Coulson that the little circle of light is where it’s supposed to be and operational.

On the other end of the room Agent Romanova and Captain Rogers are leaning against the heavily fortified door of the reinforced artifact room, both panting like they’ve just come back from a marathon.

Loki is sitting on a crate not doing a single thing while Thor hovers at arm’s length, close enough to tackle or protect Loki, it’s not quite clear.

“What did you do _now_?” Barton barks at Loki who scowls in return.

“Really? The alarm bells ring and your first thought is that it must have been me? Thank you for the vote of confidence, Agent Barton,” Loki grumbles.

Barton doesn’t relax. “It usually _is_ you.”

“This time, however, I am not to blame. But if you keep insisting I shall be happy to provide you with a real cause for alarm.”

“All right, stop it.” Coulson ends the quarrel, despite Loki’s irate glare. “Both of you.”

“Yeah,” Stark wheezes as he pulls himself up with a little help from Banner. “How about we- oh shit, this is gonna sting for a while- how about we concentrate on the guy who just almost kicked the bucket?”

“Emphasis on _almost_.” Loki’s expression reflects great disappointment with this fact.

“Zip it, Rincewind.” Stark waves dismissively at Loki and prods at the Arc Reactor in his chest. “You don’t get to talk. You didn’t even lift a finger to help.”

Stark points at the artifact room. Well, that explains the heavy breathing. The artifact must have somehow been exposed and they probably have Captain Rogers’ and agent Romanova’s quick reflexes to thank that the Stark family tree didn’t lose a bud.

Loki shrugs. “You had it under control. And my name is Loki. It’s only two syllables, even you should be able to remember that.”

“This is my lab and I’m gonna call you whatever the hell I want. Deal with it,” Stark snarls and wobbles over to the nearest swivel-chair in order to collapse into it with a pained groan.

“Oh, I’m going to deal with it alright,” Loki grumbles. “I will carve my name into everything you love with a rusty knife.”

“Fine,” Coulson interrupts, “you’ve both threatened each other. Now, can we move on, please? Somebody tell me what happened.”

When nobody else steps forward, Banner clears his throat and hesitantly begins to explain, “It seems the shielding around the artifact was not as effective as we’d hoped.”

“Killed the Arc Reactor,” Stark butts in, finally regaining some of his composure. He taps the blue glimmer underneath his shirt. “Spare.” He grins, albeit a little lopsided. “Old model though which means this is gonna go awry in no time.”

“Did it though?” Loki suddenly muses from across the room and several people flinch.

“How the hell did he get over there?” Barton marvels, hand on his gun. Coulson can offer them nothing but an exasperated sigh. He is used to Loki’s staggering ability to change locations without bothering to pass through the stretch of space in between - regardless of his magical abilities.

Moreover, Loki is cradling Stark’s disembodied Arc Reactor in his hand.

“Oh my god, somebody take that away from him!” Stark leans over the table, reaching for the device in Loki’s hand, but gives up halfway and obviously expects somebody else to do it.

When no one seems inclined to help Captain Rogers steps up to get the conversation back on track. “Did _what_ though?”

Loki arches one eyebrow; his eyes reflect the eery glow from the device, which, on second thought, _shouldn’t be glowing at all_.

Loki smirks. “Did it really _kill_ your machine?” He tosses the Arc Reactor at Stark, who yelps in horror but catches it safely in his arms. “Not so dead, is it?”

“This...,” Stark trails off in favor of carefully examining his invention. “This is odd.”

Rogers motions for Stark to get a move on. “What is?”

Stark pokes at the little device and by the looks of it has completely forgotten about everyone else. “It’s not... but it should be. It was _drained_. I could _feel it_ giving out... Can’t be. Okay, give me a sec.”

Coulson isn’t sure who Stark is talking to but he bustles off into the far corner of the lab and starts commandeering JARVIS around whilst attaching test tubes and whatnot to the mini Arc Reactor.

“I give up.” Rogers throws his arms up in frustration and flops down on one of the chairs, waiting for Stark to return from his trip to science land.

Meanwhile, Banner gives them an apologetic look. He seems to feel obligated to at least attempt an explanation.

“See, empiric data suggests that the artifact should have drained the Arc Reactor.” Banner gestures at Stark and the ball of light his nose is currently buried in. “I mean, you saw it. He collapsed because the Arc Reactor in his chest stopped working. But apparently it... didn’t.”

Everyone not in the science club raises their eyebrows, except for Loki, who looks incredibly satisfied.

Stark’s attention suddenly zeroes in on Loki. “You! You are having a field day with this, aren’t you?”

Loki mouths a silent, mocking, _’Who? Me?’_ but otherwise merely continues to grin.

Rogers perks up. “What? What’s that got to do with him?”

Stark comes stalking back into their midst, pointing a screwdriver at Loki in accusation. “Because Merlin here _knew_.”

“Call me by anything other than my name one more time, Stark, and I will rip that spare out of your chest as well.” Loki’s amusement is gone; now he simply looks menacing.

“You _knew_ ,” Stark reiterates.

Loki, on the other hand, is utterly unimpressed. “No, I did not. But while you lot were busy fretting about I drew my own conclusions.”

“Care to share?” Rogers growls. He looks as if he is reconsidering his promise not to punch Loki.

But instead of Loki, Stark answers, “He knows where his magic went. By way of _my_ near-death experience.”

“He does?” Natasha sends Loki a sideways glance, as does the rest of the group.

“Yeah.” Stark snorts and throws the screwdriver onto the workbench where it clatters over the tabletop and rolls off the other end in a pathetic allegory to their situation. “His magic’s right fucking here.”

And suddenly, everyone takes a cautionary step away from Loki.

Coulson, however, has had enough time to study Loki’s facial expressions and this one does not say _impending death by magic blast_.

“It’s a theory,” Loki says with a self-satisfied shrug.

“Alright, can we stop theorizing, please, and get to the point?” Captain Rogers looks to Stark who seems most knowledgeable about the whole situation, or at least the most talkative. “What the hell is going on?”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on-,” Stark flops down in his chair and rolls over to the workbench to pick up the discarded Arc Reactor, “-see this? This thing that’s supposed to be keeping me alive? Well, plot twist: It’s still doing that. It’s fully functional. It just doesn’t convey any of its energy to my body. Or the outside world, for that matter.”

He carefully sets it down and points to Loki. “And I’m guessing that’s exactly what happened to Rasputin’s magic. And to Thor’s powers, for that matter.”

Coulson ignores Loki’s wordless _’I will cut his throat, I swear.’_ gesture.

Meanwhile, Rogers brightens up. “But that’s good news, isn’t it? Now we know what it does. All we have to do is figure out why.”

There is a low chuckle in the corner and suddenly everyone turns towards Loki who casually leans back against the wall and smirks. “Because you’re human.”

“Okay,” Rogers huffs. “We get it. You don’t like us very much. But can we focus, please?”

All of a sudden Stark is back on his feet, pacing - albeit a tad unsteadily. “No. No, no, he’s actually right.”

Rogers groans. “Not you too, Stark.” 

Stark merely scowls for a moment. “Wait a second before you judge, will you? Let me explain.”

“Please do.” This earns Rogers another hefty glare but it’s hard for Stark to hold a grudge when there is _science stuff_ to be unraveled.

“What I meant to say was that there _is_ a difference between us.” Stark gestures between the two of them. “Look, the Arc Reactor is basically a massively potent energy source. You can use it to power a building, cheat death, or blow a crater into Manhattan.”

When Stark realizes that his audience is going to need a few more hints he continues, “Take his magic, for example. Essentially the same thing. It’s just a different form of energy. And, as we all know, it can also be used to cause a fair amount of damage. Don’t gloat like that, Saruman, you old creeper, that wasn’t a compliment. But, you see it now, don’t you? Energy? Weapons? Get it? Please don’t get me started on Thor, the powerhouse, because that’s like throwing with bricks. No offense, buddy.”

Thor doesn’t even seem to notice. Like the rest of them, he stands there and waits for the other shoe to drop.

“So,” Banner chimes in, thoughtfully tapping his glasses against the tabletop. “It responds to threats. It’s a defense mechanism.”

“And we have a winner!” Stark exclaims, gleefully. “That’s why it doesn’t react to any of you.”

He makes a sweeping gesture at the rest of the assembled team who are not nuclear-powered or a deity.

Captain Rogers crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking less than convinced. “So… we’re not a threat to it?”

Stark wiggles his hands. “No. Well. Yes. In a way. I’m not saying none of you can pack a punch because, honestly, I’ve been on the receiving end of one of Natasha’s roundhouse kicks and it isn’t pleasant. No, what I’m saying is that this _thing_ doesn’t view you as a threat because you have no energy output. Not in the same way as us, anyway. Your powers come from a... genetic level, I suppose. Or, in Coulson’s case, a taser and a very effective poker face.”

Coulson tries not to be offended by the lack of opposition on this matter.

“You know, that’s great and all,” Natasha says. “But how do we make it _stop_?”

“Well, it doesn’t seem to have any mechanical parts,” Banner muses. “As far as we can tell, that is. Getting testing equipment anywhere near it is a bit difficult, but now that we know what to watch out for maybe we can work something out.”

Stark agrees, “It needs some form of energy to function. If we know what it is we can find the plug to pull. And hopefully get us all back to normal. Or normal-er, in Gargamel’s case.”

Coulson silently swears that if this results in him having to explain The Smurfs to Loki he will personally taser Stark into the floor, poker face and all.

“Where are you going?” Coulson quietly inquires when Loki tries to walk past him.

Loki glances back over his shoulder where Team Banner-Stark is already deeply engaged in scientific palaver while the rest of the group is desperately trying to hang on. “My work here is done.”

“You think so?” Coulson recognizes his mistake when Loki’s pleased little grin turns into something a lot more malicious.

“Oh. You’re right. There is one more thing,” Loki says and swiftly turns around.

Coulson winces. “No, there isn’t-”

But it’s too late. Loki marches over to Stark, grabs him by the collar of his shirt, hauls him around, and pins him to the table via a firm grip around his throat.

“Say it,” Loki hisses, undeterred by the multitude of weapons being drawn. “Say my name. And it had better be the right one.”

Stark tears at Loki’s sweater in a fruitless attempt to push him away, but unless Loki’s name is _’Helpcan’tbreathepfffff’_ this is not going so well.

Coulson pulls the safety on his gun back with an audible _click_ that Loki cannot possibly ignore.

“You know I will,” Coulson warns and Loki actually lifts his head to bare his teeth at him in a feral caricature of a smile.

It is possible that in this moment no one in the room dares to breathe.

Eventually, Loki glances back down at Stark, who is beginning to turn blue, and lets go; but not without shoving Stark’s head against the tabletop one last time. Loki straightens up and grins at Coulson, holding his hands up in a half-serious gesture of surrender.

Stark hacks and coughs in the background, massaging his abused throat. Loki has a mean grip, Coulson knows that.

“Shit,” Stark croaks. “As exciting as my life is, having it flash before my eyes twice a day is not what I consider fun.”

“Feeling better?” Coulson growls. Loki gives a nonchalant shrug and takes a few steps back.

“Okay, Darth, you need to stop going for my throat. It gets old,” Stark wheezes.

Sometimes Coulson has to wonder if something in Stark’s brain is just plain broken because the man does not know when to quit. Then again, if he did he wouldn’t be Iron Man. Maybe that’s a prerequisite for the job.

Loki’s sugary-sweet smile is like death wrapped up in paper with a silk bow on top when he replies, “Oh? My apologies. I would hate to be so repetitive. Allow me to remedy that.”

And then he knees Stark in the groin.

“Now I feel better.” Loki sneers and turns around to leave just as Stark hits the floor with a freakishly high-pitched whimper.

“Everyone who saw that coming say ‘I’?” Barton mumbles instead of actually helping. Next to him Natasha wordlessly raises her hand.

Coulson shakes his head, frowning at the two of them. “Go get some ice.”

“No... get...get... a doctor,” Stark squeals through clenched teeth while clutching at Banner’s shirt who is squatting in front of Stark trying to awkwardly assess the damage without intruding on anyone’s privacy.

“I _am_ a doctor, Tony.”

Stark drags him closer. “Please, whatever you do, _don’t get angry_.”

“I won’t.” Banner barely suppresses a laugh. “Promise.”


	8. Chapter 8

The cafeteria is quiet at this hour; most agents have had the last coffee of their day, and the graveyard shift isn’t in yet.

Despite the relative silence, Coulson is sitting at the table furthest away from the door, enjoying the low murmur of occasional conversation, too far off to make out words but close enough to identify who is talking.

It’s a good place to think. In Coulson’s case, it’s about a set of satellite images. He’s been shuffling them back and forth for the last half hour, trying to fit them together so they will make sense.

Earlier, when Coulson had finally made it to Ops Center, Fury had shoved a file at him and told him not to come back until he had figured it out. So here he is, sitting in a corner, having stale coffee, and staring at something that is about to go very wrong, for sure.

There is some hubbub by the door, but Coulson ignores it until the noise gets closer and he can’t any longer. It turns out to be Loki, who smiles and puts a steaming-hot cup of coffee in front of Coulson.

“Returning the favor,” Loki says with a nod towards the mug next to Coulson’s arm in which the liquid has transformed into a caffeinated lava-landscape.

Coulson eyes the offering with unveiled suspicion. “What do you want?”

“What?” Loki settles into the seat across from Coulson, acting offended. “I can’t bring my friend coffee?”

There it is again: the f-word. Coulson rolls his shoulders in mild discomfort. “Certainly. It was the favor part that got me.”

Loki waves it off. “Oh please, don’t mention it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Coulson smiles and takes a sip from his new beverage which, to his surprise, does not taste of salt, vinegar or turpentine.

Loki seems to appreciate this little show of trust. He casually sits back, and for a while they probably look like two peaceful gentlemen who randomly came to share a table.

Naturally, the peace doesn’t last.

“How is our patient, by the way?” Loki asks; it would pass as genuine concern if you didn’t look at his face.

Coulson continues to scribble notes on his tablet. “Sore. But on the mend. If you were hoping for any permanent damage, I’ll have to disappoint you.”

Loki grins. “Now why would I hope for that?”

Coulson glances up. “Yeah, exactly. I’d stay clear of the lab area for a while though. And Stark in general. He said something about inventing teleportation so he can beam your nuts to Mars.”

Loki gives him a look, uninterested, as if threats to his private parts are an everyday occurrence. “He can’t harm me.”

Coulson offers a nonchalant shrug. “Sure. Whatever. They’re your balls, not mine.”

And that’s that. They go back to sitting in silence, Coulson digging through a mountain of images and Loki watching him with the air of someone who wants to be entertained but is too stubborn to ask.

“What are you working on?” Loki inquires, already snatching up one of the print-outs.

“Satellite images,” Coulson replies and catches Loki frowning at the page in his hands.

“You are looking at star maps? Why, I never pegged you for a star gazer, Agent Coulson.”

Coulson puts down his pen and sighs. “You’re bored, aren’t you?”

“Fascinating. How can you tell?”

“You’re here.”

Loki grimaces. “Fine. Yes. Beyond belief.”

“Yeah, I can see how that’s a problem,” Coulson says and gives up. A bored trickster is, well, _a bored trickster_. It’s like a self-activating time-bomb with a volatile sense of humor.

“Seeing as how I am apparently banned from the laboratories and hence have nothing better to do I may as well put my vast knowledge at your disposal.”

Coulson is confused. He must have missed the memo about a Q&A session with Loki.

“Knowledge about what?” He asks.

Loki taps the stack of images. “Stars. Shockingly, the science of astronomy is not exclusive to Earth.”

“I’m not looking at stars,” Coulson says and watches Loki’s confusion grow. “I’m looking at the space _between_ them.”

Loki’s gaze travels over the assorted pictures, his dismissive smirk faltering. “You do not wish to know what is out there. Trust me.”

“I know. But it’s my job to worry about things I wish I didn’t know about. And I take my job very seriously.” Coulson inclines his head and pushes one random satellite image across the table. It doesn’t matter which one - it’s in all of them.

Loki’s brow furrows. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“See those black spots?” Coulson leans over the table and indicates the nondescript, marginally darker blotches scattered over the page. “Know what they are?”

Loki gives him a lopsided grin. “I’m flattered you think I know everything, but alas, I am stumped.”

“What happened to all that _’vast knowledge’_ you were talking about?”

“I said vast, not unlimited,” Loki grumbles. “Well, do _you_ know what they are?”

Coulson sits back, twirling the tablet pen between his fingers. “No.”

For a moment, Loki clearly means to laugh but he diverts and instead ends up smirking. His eyes narrow as he leans closer. “But you have a theory.”

“Sort of.”

Loki gets as comfortable as you can in these chairs and presents him with a generous smile. “Try me.”

Coulson figures Loki is trapped in this mess like the rest of them, perhaps even more so. Without his powers, he can’t make a run for it and getting a deal with any of his shady allies is pretty difficult when you have nothing to offer. So, either Loki has a genuine interest in Coulson’s findings, or he is even more bored than he lets on.

Coulson takes a deep breath. “Okay, look, the artifact isn’t from Earth. I’m pretty sure we’d know if we had invented something like this-”

“Are you sure? You people seem to have no clue what is happening most of the time.”

Coulson scowls. “Do you want to hear my theory or do you want to continue insulting mankind?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I can multitask.”

“Good to know.” Coulson shoots Loki a dark look. Loki wordlessly raises his eyebrows and Coulson picks up where he left off, “If we didn’t invent this thing then somebody else did. It was well hidden in that cave until we dug it up. And I reckon nobody just _leaves_ a universal off-switch in a cave in Armenia.”

“You suspect somebody will come looking for it.” Loki nods, his smile shrewd.

Coulson gestures towards the satellite images. “I’m thinking these black spots might not be glitches in our image rendering software.”

The fact that Loki’s expression veers towards devilishly gleeful is downright disturbing. For someone who is neck-deep in the same shit as everyone else he sure as hell takes a lot of delight in finding out what it smells like. It’s moments like these that Coulson has the urge to schedule a CAT scan for Loki to pinpoint where exactly he hit his head falling through the universe.

“You’re thinking _battleships_ , aren’t you?”

Coulson sighs and starts packing up. “I’m hoping not. But fact is, this thing doesn’t belong here and someone is bound to be missing it. Unearthing the artifact clearly triggered _something_. Wouldn’t be the first time somebody accidentally activated a deadly weapon.”

“Yes, you mortals have a strange attraction towards things that can kill you.”

Coulson shrugs, sorting the images back into the file binder. “Buttons are meant to be pushed. I remember you not being able to resist a couple of times either. Didn’t do you any good either, did it?”

Loki gives him a look as if Coulson were mistaking kittens for lions. “Contrary to you, death is not amongst my greatest concerns.”

“Yeah, I know your greatest concern. You’re pretty high up on his list of priorities too.”

Loki snorts. “You misjudge Thor’s importance in my life.”

“That makes two of us.” Coulson tucks the files under his arm along with the tablet and takes a last swig of his coffee before getting up. Loki even lets him, merely giving him a miffed _’You know nothing’_ look. Reality seems to be wearing him down.

“Wait.” Loki twists around in his seat. “Are you not going to tell Fury?”

Coulson half-turns. “About what? All I have are a couple of black spots _in space_ and a gut feeling. I need something a lot more substantial to get the ball rolling.”

“You think Fury wouldn’t believe his most trusted agent?” Loki says with a wink.

“Oh, no. He probably would. He just wouldn’t be able to do anything about it because _it’s still just a wild guess_.”

Loki cocks his head to the side and musters Coulson like a painter contemplating where to put the finishing touch. “Would a bit of hard evidence help?”

Coulson gives in. “Sure. And I suppose you know where to get that. Am I right?”

“I heard about that satellite of yours. The one that fell out of the sky,” Loki replies and Coulson wonders how much of the conversation he missed. But following Loki on tangents has been a full-time job lately so he goes along with it.

“I know which one you mean,” Coulson adds, impatient. “What about it?”

“Well, where did it land?”

“In Turk- _Shit._ ” Coulson stops and takes a deep, calming breath. He can’t believe it’s been in front of him the whole time and he didn’t see it. He must have been too distracted by herding Loki to give a downed satellite more than a moment’s thought.

Meanwhile, Loki is grinning like he found the button for world domination.

It’s still barely more than a hunch, but at least now Coulson knows where to start digging for more evidence. He turns on his heel and rushes out the door.

“Oh, never mind, I’ve stopped expecting any thanks ever since I met you!” Loki yells after him.

Coulson skids to a halt in the corridor, nearly bumping into a group of agents heading into the cafeteria, and hurries back inside.

“You-,” he points at Loki who is openly disliking where this is going, “-with me.”

“You would do good to phrase it a little more politely, Agent Coulson,” Loki snarls, not moving an inch.

“Please?”

Loki shakes his head, still glaring. “That is _not_ more polite.”

Coulson doesn’t have time for this. “Okay, fine. You can either come with me, or you can spend the rest of the day bored out of your skull. Which one sounds more interesting?”

The few agents in the room look from one man to the other as if they were watching a tennis match with a grenade for a ball.

“Neither seems desirable,” Loki replies, but Coulson can already see the smirk forming on his lips.

“But I want something to rub in Fury’s face later on,” Loki decides eventually and slowly rises from his chair like it’s an actual throne. He saunters over towards Coulson as if taking a walk in the park.

“I’m not sure it works that way,” Coulson muses and holds the door open for Loki, who promptly finds himself face to face with the group Coulson had almost run over a minute ago.

All four agents have their hands on their weapons. Loki gives them a dismissive once-over before walking past. He grins at the way they flinch when he makes an unexpected side-step in their direction.

Coulson grimaces and shakes his head.

Loki shrugs. “I had to make sure I hadn’t lost my touch.”

He continues down the corridor in long strides, head held high, and looking every bit like the royal menace that he is.

\---

Agent Winters is not pleased to hear from Coulson. He estimates that this is the last of his mentor bonus favors she is willing to grant him, but she comes through nonetheless.

The Middle East division has been handling the satellite incident so far, and according to protocol, the wreckage has been examined, catalogued, and quarantined in a hangar at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in Turkey. Random meteorite collision, tough luck, nothing to see here, thank you and goodbye.

Upon Coulson’s subtle insistence, however, Agent Winters agrees to take another look at it.

What has previously been indexed as a _’Meteorite Fragment’_ turns out to be... well, something that Agent Winters sternly frowns about when she calls Coulson back. She overnights the piece of debris.

What Coulson gets is, basically, a rock.

He briefly wonders if Winters has sent him the wrong item, but closer examination reveals markings that resemble those Coulson has seen flashing over doctor Banner’s screens in the lab.

The lab is also where Coulson drops it off later that day. Naturally, Stark informs him that this is _’not a freaking community lab’_ and that they are busy enough with the artifact so could he please take his space rock somewhere else. It’s a lot less authoritative than Stark thinks, with the ice pack strapped to his crotch. 

Coulson shoves the small crate at Banner instead, who smiles somewhat apologetically and nods affirmingly. It’s an _alien space rock_. Stark won’t be able to resist for long to see if there is any way to make it grow a personality.

Meanwhile, Coulson drags Loki to a small conference room on the lowest floor of the R&D levels at Stark Tower because he has an idea. While Loki insists on making all sorts of sexual innuendos about darkened conference rooms, it’s really all about JARVIS.

“JARVIS?” Coulson intones, fanning out the satellite images on the table.

_”At your service, Agent Coulson.”_

He looks at the patchwork of pictures, hoping he’s arranged them correctly. “I’m gonna need your help on this one.”

_”Certainly, Sir. But, may I point out that your companion does not have any form of security clearance? In fact, he seems to be the reason for a large number of our security measures.”_

“I’m aware of that, JARVIS, thank you,” Coulson says stiffly while Loki is making himself comfortable, grinning like he’s just been paid a compliment.

_”Off the books then?”_

Coulson rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs. “For now, yes.”

_”Noted. Always a pleasure to assist in S.H.I.E.L.D. business, sir.”_

“JARVIS, a word of warning. I’m _not_ Stark. When I say I’ll have you decommissioned I will actually do it. Understood?”

_“Absolutely.”_

“May I add that we would not be confronted with this problem if I had one of your lovely little ID cards?” Loki chips in from the sidelines. His favorite hobby is nagging Coulson about one of those.

 _”As a matter of fact, you would,”_ JARVIS replies. _”I would merely be able to track your movements on the premises more precisely.”_

Coulson glances at Loki. He seems to mull this over and then makes a face. “In this case, disregard my my previous notions on this topic.”

Coulson smiles. “You got it. Now, can we get this show on the road, please?”

_”Certainly, Agent Coulson.”_

\---

“So, you’re telling me an alien armada is on its way here to get back what you assume is theirs, and you’re asking me to ready our forces for a full-scale attack because you saw a bunch of black dots in outer space, that our tech guys are convinced are just a set of busted panels. Not to mention the _rock_ you found in Armenia. Am I getting this right?”

Coulson knew making his case with Fury was going to be difficult, but it sounds even more ridiculous when he puts it like that.

“Sir, I have no experience in satellite engineering but that looks an awful lot like a battle formation to me,” Coulson says, pointing at JARVIS’ 3D model that is floating between them. The black smudges are no longer flat (or black, for that matter) but hover in mid-air at varying distances and illustrate quite nicely, in Coulson’s opinion, how much worse a situation can get if you change your point of view.

Fury narrows his eye, first at the hologram, then at Coulson. “Okay, let’s assume for a moment you’re right. I’ve got one more question for you: What the hell is _he_ doing here?”

He points at Loki, who has been spending the last ten minutes quietly smirking to himself and taking up as much space in the room as possible.

“I thought I’d told you to keep him out of my sight?”

“He helped, sir.”

Fury pauses and then leans forward. “Coulson, do me a favor, say that again and very carefully listen to yourself. Then, after you’ve done that, tell me what’s wrong with that sentence.”

“I must say, your lack of faith in my honest intentions is disturbing if not downright offending,” Loki interrupts before Coulson gets a chance to answer. 

Fury gives Loki a look that has set up camp somewhere between _’Don’t talk to me’_ and _’One more word and you’re dead’_.

Loki, however, shrugs and presents Fury with a brazen smile. “Yet not entirely baseless, perhaps.”

“You bet your ass it’s not,” Fury shoots back, but the triumphant grin is now permanently stuck on Loki’s face.

“Sir,” Coulson implores before this veers too far off topic. “With all due respect, I think he’s not the problem right now.”

Fury continues to glare at Loki. “He’s _always_ the problem.”

“You flatter me.”

“Coulson, get him out of here or I will shoot him, I swear.”

“Not sure that’s gonna work, sir.”

“I can try,” Fury growls, pacing. “I’ll try until it works.”

This is clearly derailing from the initial purpose of this meeting.

“Maybe we should worry more about the alien armada, sir? Perhaps they can shoot him,” Coulson suggests.

“Showing your true colors now, are you, Agent Coulson?” Loki snarls. Coulson offers a soundless _’Sorry.’_ accompanied by a shrug, to which Loki merely responds with an exasperated eyeroll.

“How do we know we’re not playing right into his hands?” Fury has stopped walking a rut into the floor and goes back to scrutinizing Loki through the blue glow of the 3D model.

Coulson shrugs his shoulders. “The way I see it we will, no matter what we do.”

Loki gives him a sideways glance, accompanied by a thin smile. “Well said.”

“Thank you.”

Fury stares at them in horror. “Did I die and land in hell?”

“Why would you think that, sir?”

“‘Cause you two are behaving like a fucking double act!” Fury bellows. “Get out!”

“What about the-,” Coulson gestures at the hologram. He knows he is pushing it.

Fury looks as if he is actually considering shooting at least one of them. “Yes, goddammit. I’ll make the fucking call. But I want more intel on that space rock you found. Get Stark on it. _Yesterday._ ”

“Yes, sir.” Coulson nods and ushers Loki out the door before Fury can change his mind.

“And if Stark gives you any trouble-,” Fury adds and glances at Loki, “-you have my permission to punch him in the dick. I hear it works.”

“Was that a compliment?” Loki wonders aloud once they are back in the corridor.

Coulson contemplates this. “You know what? I think it was.”


	9. Chapter 9

News of the alien invasion quickly makes the rounds, although some of it is greatly exaggerated. There is no indication that they possess a death ray, for example. Not yet, anyway.

On the other hand, they might not need one if they manage to shut down every power source on the planet. Coulson likes to think the best of mankind, but he also knows when to expect stupidity, nastiness, and general asshattery.

And with a planet gone dark there is bound to be some _major_ asshattery going around.

Fortunately, they are not there yet. After all, they have the best brains (and brawns) in this corner of the universe at their disposal.

Sadly, none of that will be any good if all of that talent refuses to cooperate.

“Hold on. He doesn’t even go here.” Stark comes wobbling out from behind his workbench the moment Coulson enters the lab with Loki.

Coulson wishes the improvised ice-pack-diaper Stark is wearing over his pants was the strangest thing he’s ever seen.

“Please.” Loki sends a condescending smile Stark’s way. “You are not still begrudging me that, are you?”

Stark’s eyes go wide. “Excuse me, _what_? Am I still-- You know what, first of all: Do you see the ice pack? I sure as hell am not wearing it as a fashion accessory so, there’s a clue for you. And secondly, _you_ are really the last person to talk about grudges.”

Coulson purposefully steps into their line of sight, clearing his throat louder than necessary. “Doctor Banner, where are we on the artifact?”

Banner, in his surprising capacity as the more approachable part of this duo, seems to pick up on his cue to keep the situation from escalating into a fist-fight with very few rules regarding anyone’s nether regions.

“The artifact, yes. I... yes,” Banner mumbles, cautiously glancing at Stark who merely hobbles back towards the other end of the room to continue insulting Loki from there.

“Well, when we heard about your alien army, we started looking for hidden signals and we found this,” Banner elaborates. He turns around to pull up one of the transparent screens and starts shifting program windows, code, and images around. Meanwhile, Coulson wonders how many S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives have begun to call it _’his army’_ as if he owned it.

Banner beckons them closer. “There was no detectable radio signal, so we figured the artifact must have communicated its location in a different way. Turns out it’s emitting a constant pulse of light at a wavelength that is invisible to the human eye.”

Coulson nods at Loki. “That would explain the burst of light you saw before you blacked out.”

Loki heaves a sigh in response. “I feel so privileged.”

“When do you not?” Coulson mumbles. He didn’t necessarily intend for anyone to hear it though.

“When he’s with Thor, I suppose,” Stark comments from his corner like a peeved voiceover.

Coulson gets ready to throw himself between Loki and his impending murderous revenge, but to his astonishment, nothing happens.

“What? I can control myself. Unlike _some_.” Loki gives Stark a meaningful look over Coulson’s shoulder.

“Excellent,” Coulson commends over the noise of Tony Stark tossing around equipment like a ten-year-old who didn’t get a bike for Christmas. “Keep it up. Sorry, doctor. Please go on.”

Fortunately, Banner is used to at least half of this peacock fight so he takes it in stride. Although, he does keep an overly polite distance between him and Loki. Banner taps the screen and an animation of the artifact pops up.

“So, as I was saying, it transmits a light signal. Not as reliable as radio frequencies, admittedly, but much faster. When they brought the artifact to the surface it was out in the open long enough for the signal to go through.”

Coulson inspects the model on the screen. This is actually the first time he’s laid eyes on the artifact. It never even occurred to him that up until now he had no idea what this thing looked like. 

It’s visually underwhelming.

If this representation is accurate, then the artifact looks like one of those weirdly smooth pebbles, shaped and ground into round perfection by a river or the sea. As far as Coulson can tell, there are faint markings covering the shell, but they hold no meaning.

He’s not sure if it’s just the image on the screen or if the real thing is doing it too, but it seems to be glowing from the inside. A nice night light, but not a particularly threatening one.

Then again, it doesn’t have to be flashy to be deadly.

“Anyway, we can shut it down?” Coulson inquires. He doesn’t like the look Banner is giving him.

Banner hesitates. “Well, about that… There’s good news and there’s bad news.”

“There always is, doc.” Coulson sighs and motions for Banner to get it over with.

“We managed to get some readings that indicate a spike in the artifact’s energy output every time it engages,” Banner elaborates as the EKG-like waves meander across the screen. “Afterwards it drops below its normal level for a few seconds until it’s recharged.”

Coulson narrows his eyes. “Is this the good news?”

Banner makes a face as if all of this were his fault. “Sort of. See, every time its defense mechanism is triggered it loses power by trying to return to its default output level.”

“And will that shut it down eventually?”

Banner wiggles his hand uncertainly. “Eventually? Yes. But by the rate we’re going it would either take _centuries_ to deplete it or something with a sheer inconceivable output level.”

Next to Coulson Loki sneers. “Well, aren’t we currently standing on top of one?”

This brings Stark bustling out of his corner, bow-legged and ready for a fight. “Whoa! No, no, no! You keep your thieving little fingers off my building, you hear?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “It’s a building, Stark. How could I possibly steal a building?”

“One never knows with you, Copperfield.” Stark waves it off while Loki gives Coulson a sideways glance that means to say _’He did it again.’_ with a distinctly homicidal edge.

The thing with Stark is that he responds to threats like a rubber band to stress - he snaps back. Most of the time he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

So Coulson makes a subtle, placating gesture in Loki’s direction and shrugs. _’He’ll run out of names eventually.’_

Loki huffs in response and Banner saves the day by returning the focus of the conversation to the initial point. “Anyway, we don’t know for sure if the Arc Reactor would even suffice to power it down,” Banner continues. “And if you ask me, it seems kind of counterproductive to test our theory on the biggest energy source we have when we are facing an alien invasion.”

“Gold star for Bruce, and none for you,” Stark agrees with a pointed glare in Loki’s direction.

“My apologies, I didn’t realize this was a contest for your affections.” Loki leers, bowing just enough to make it a mockery.

Stark retaliates in his best rubber band manner. “Yeah, too bad you’re permanently disqualified.”

“I will make sure to weep over this later on.” Loki snorts and Coulson decides that this is quite enough.

“All right, gentlemen,” Coulson interrupts sharply, “nobody is going to steal anything-”

“How do you know? Did you pat him down?” Stark points an accusatory finger at Loki whose only answer is an allusive grin.

Coulson scowls. “I know because I can see his hands and his pockets aren’t deep enough right now. Can we move on, please? I think we have bigger problems. What about the debris from the satellite crash I gave you?”

It always pays to offer Stark an opportunity to shine in order to get him to back off.

“Well, despite my incredibly busy schedule and because I am an amazingly indulging friend I did take a look at it for you,” Stark replies, already shuffling over to an illuminated workbench.

The drawback, of course, is that you have to deal with Stark’s way of saying _’You’re welcome.’_.

When all three of them stare blankly at Stark he huffs. “You are an ungrateful bunch, has anyone ever told you that?”

Coulson ignores Stark’s snide remark and concentrates on the alien tech laid out before them.

“All right, so what we have here is basically a scout,” Stark explains whilst poking and prodding at things that Coulson is highly uncomfortable seeing poked and prodded. “It was designed to scan, locate, and send information back home. Guess it didn’t find what it was looking for.”

“How can you be so sure?” Loki chimes in, craning his neck to get a better look at the device. Stark does not appreciate it.

“‘Cause it flew into a satellite?” Stark snarls. “It’s pretty banged up but I was able to restore most of its memory, which was a pain in the ass, let me tell you. We’re not talking about some trivial SATA hard drives here-”

Stark pauses and observes their expressions of impatience (Coulson) and utter disregard (Loki). Banner is simply smiling to himself.

“You guys are an unappreciative audience,” Stark grumbles.

Loki feigns consternation. “Oh, I’m sorry, was this our cue to clap? Forgive us. Please, I beg you, do it again so we can properly fulfill our duties as your captivated listeners.”

Stark narrows his eyes. “One more word out of your mouth, Twilight, and I will rub that ice pack all over your face. And you know where that’s been all day. Last warning, I mean it.”

Loki’s gaze darts down for a moment. He makes a vaguely disgusted face. “I am reasonably terrified.”

Coulson sighs. “Back to the point, Stark.”

“Fine, fine,” Stark concedes. “This thing is much more interesting than Miss Umbridge here anyway. So, as I was saying, I was able to extract most of the scout’s logging data. Nothing indicates that it actually sent anything back before it was defeated by, what was it? S-SAT 37? Seriously, Phil? 37? How many satellites do you have up there?”

“That’s classified.”

“You know I consider that a challenge, right?”

“Yes. And if we survive this we will try to make it as interesting for you as possible.”

Stark presents him with a broad grin. “I like the sound of that. Now, as for this nifty little spy cam, there’s one other thing I noticed. It’s constantly sending a short-range signal with an identifier. A call sign, if you will.”

“Can we use it against them?” Coulson has little hope but it never hurts to ask.

Stark shrugs. “I don’t know yet. Maybe. But even if were able to underlay it with a virus and amplify the signal, chances are they’re just gonna block it. Besides, we haven’t decoded everything yet so we might just be sending gibberish.”

“So, if I understand you correctly, and I rather think I am, they do not have the exact location of the artifact yet,” Loki muses and Coulson recognizes the look on his face. It’s the same expression he gets when he’s trying not to have an expression.

“It’s probably more of a general approximation,” Stark admits grumpily. “Why are you talking to me?”

Loki smiles. “I wasn’t. But since you are so eager to answer let me ask you a real question: How do you think they intend to find the artifact?”

“Who knows. Maybe they’ll start in Armenia and then ping their way around the world until-,” Stark squeezes his eyes shut, “Shit. I _hate_ it when he’s right.”

“And what exactly is he right about?” Coulson tries not to find Loki’s impossibly smug grin too distracting.

“It means the artifact has got to have some sort of passive listening device built in. And that call sign might serve to distinguish friend from foe. Otherwise, it will just engage blindly at anything in its vicinity, as it has done so far,” Banner replies in Stark’s place, for the latter has wobbled over to the screens and is already tinkering with algorithms. Banner seems as astounded as everyone else that they are suddenly basing theories on _‘things Loki said’_.

“We just weren’t talking to it,” Stark interjects, although it’s not entirely clear who he’s talking to. “If we can replicate the signal, single it out somehow, we could- Bruce, gimme a hand with this, will you?”

“That’s a pretty good point you were making there. You’re turning into quite the science buff,” Coulson remarks when Banner excuses himself in order to assist Stark.

Loki casually leans against the workbench and spins a piece of alien tech between his fingers. “Science, magic. Two means to the same end. The trick is to know what your goal is.”

“And what is your goal?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Considering that Loki almost always has several contingencies...

“Not really.”

Loki’s grin turns devious. “ _Good_.”

\---

They leave the lab area. There is little to do once the conversation starts revolving around technical terms and theories that have more last names than the entire S.H.I.E.L.D. payroll.

Besides, there are preparations to be made. After all, they might soon be facing off with an alien race, bearing weapons of unknown quantity and firepower, and coming for an object of yet to be determined value.

However, throughout the hectic rush of the following hours, Loki’s hovering presence is weirdly reassuring. Which is all kinds of backwards, and Coulson is well aware of it.

But he supposes it’s similar to the thing with the ship and the rats - once Loki abandons ship they might as well switch off the lights and hand over the keys.

Loki has as much riding on this as everyone else; perhaps without the immediate danger of death by alien cannons, but given Loki’s previous experiences with survival Coulson’s not so sure that’s a blessing.

Coulson doesn’t have an office at Stark Tower so they end up back at the cafeteria which is now empty on account of everyone preparing for the worst. Agent Hill offered to send a helicopter to take Coulson to the Helicarrier but he declined. He is the most senior operative on site and if their laboratory dream-team does manage to find a solution, they are going to need someone to coordinate with S.H.I.E.L.D..

Plus, Loki is here. And the further Loki is away from the Helicarrier the better. It’s not like Coulson can just dump Loki at the nearest pet shelter. Loki needs experienced supervision and Coulson doesn’t trust anyone else with that. He would be hard pressed to find anyone willing to try anyway.

Right now, Loki is pretty low maintenance though. He is seated across from Coulson, who is working through dozens of requests and emergency orders on his tablet. Loki is lazily rolling a mug of slowly cooling coffee between his hands whilst staring out at the street like a biologist studying an ant hill.

“Thanks, by the way,” Coulson says as he opens another high priority email.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Loki turning towards him with a slightly startled look.

“You said nobody ever thanked you.” Coulson glances up and shrugs. “I thought I’d take care of that before it’s, you know, too late.”

Loki’s expression is unusually blank for a moment. Normally, there’s at least the _wrong_ expression there. Perhaps his face doesn’t know what to do with this situation.

But then a thin yet vaguely appreciative smile unfolds on Loki’s lips and he gives a gracious nod. The smile turns devious pretty damned fast though.

“Well, then let’s see to it that you live to regret it, shall we?”

Coulson sighs. “You couldn’t just say ‘You’re welcome’, could you?”

Loki scrunches up his nose as if to say _’That would have been too easy.’_ and continues to nip at his coffee. Coulson opens his mouth to reply but gets cut off by his cell phone vibrating furiously in his jacket pocket.

He frowns at the number on the screen. There shouldn’t _be_ a number. Anyone who could be calling him on his private cell should be clearly identifiable. The call doesn’t even originate from the same _continent_ (if the area code is any indication).

“Something wrong?” Loki inquires, his tone casual but alert.

“Probably,” Coulson says and picks up. “Don Cardinale’s pizza delivery service. May I take your order?”

Loki raises his eyebrows in question, but Coulson silently gestures at the phone and shakes his head no. He is not going to identify himself as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to an unknown caller.

_”It’s me, sir, Agent Winters.”_

Coulson’s frown deepens. The line is crackling with static and she sounds exhausted. All in all an alarming combination.

“Agent Winters. I assume something’s happened?”

_”Indeed. We’ve had contact, sir.”_

Coulson stills, staring straight ahead which, unfortunately, brings him eye to eye with Loki, who is inconspicuously leaning closer. For a brief moment Coulson wonders if Loki normally has super-hearing and if it’s temporarily disabled along with his magic.

“What happened?” Coulson asks, already checking for any leaked information on the internet.

 _”The entire compound has been taken out. No weapons, no communication, not even lights.”_ The wonky connection gives out every now and then but Coulson thinks he can hear baaing in the background. _”We had to walk two hours to the nearest phone.”_

“Is anyone hurt?”

_”As far as we can tell nothing more severe than a few scratches and a broken leg.”_

“A broken leg? I thought you said-”

_”Agent Jindal fell down the stairs in the dark, sir. But Mister Yilmaz took him to a doctor.”_

Coulson blinks. “Mister Yilmaz?”

_”Yes, sir. He owns this phone. Very helpful bunch around here. They have sheep too.”_

Coulson tries not to think too hard about how sheep figure into this.

“So, HQ is still standing?”

_”Absolutely. We tried to engage them but they had us powered down before we could react. However, the damage dealt seems to be minimal.”_

“How many are we talking?”

Agent Winters is quiet for a second, either counting in her head or warding off sheep. _”Two dozen battleships, I would say. Plus several smaller cruisers and individual fighters.”_

Coulson’s expression takes another dip down the severity range. “That’s quite a large force. And yet they only took out the power supply?”

_”Maybe they decided it wasn’t worth the effort when they realized the artifact wasn’t here.”_

Somehow Coulson doubts, _’Okay, we’re letting you off easy this time._ is the sort of reasoning that was applied here.

Meanwhile, the situation is worsened by the quickly increasing number of news reports and Twitter hashtags popping up on Coulson’s tablet. They feature sudden power outages all over Europe and Northern Africa.

Coulson swipes it all aside with a flick of his hand and sighs. “That seems awfully kind of them. Either way, we can’t rely on them going easy on everyone. I’ll bring Fury up to speed. I’ll send a search and rescue team to you as soon as we-”

 _”Don’t worry about us, sir,”_ Winters interrupts. _”We’re fine. There’s sheep. Any place that has sheep can’t be that bad.”_

Coulson briefly wonders if sheep are some form of social indicator that he’s not aware of but abandons the thought in favor of nodding stiffly. “We’ll get you out of there as soon as possible.”

The _’if we’re still here’_ goes unsaid but even the sheep know it’s there.

_”Sure. And, uh, sir?”_

“Yes?”

_”It would be greatly appreciated if you didn’t die.”_

Coulson blinks and hopes he doesn’t look as flustered as he feels. Loki would never let him hear the end of it. “I’ll do my best not to. In the meantime, hang in there.”

Agent Winters assures him once more that they will be taken care of but blissfully omits any further sheep-related assumptions.

“So?” Loki raises his eyebrows in question as soon as Coulson hangs up.

Coulson gathers his things as quickly and carefully as possible, and gives Loki a worried glance. “We are officially under attack.”


	10. Chapter 10

Coulson calls Fury, and in turn, Fury calls the council. Coulson has no idea who the council calls, but he is not going to ask.

It takes a while to mobilize a strike force, even with the tiny head start Coulson’s earlier hunch had given them. In addition, rescue teams have to be readied, fire brigades and law enforcement need to be informed so that they can have an eye on anyone who might want to try their luck during a convenient blackout.

Nobody knows what to expect. The blackouts in Europe and Northern Africa seem to be confined to specific places, or sometimes even just individual buildings. And yet, they can never be sure if this isn’t just stage one of a large scale attack that might very well take out the entire planet.

And the worst is, they have nothing to counter with.

“What?” Stark pops up behind a workbench. “No, no, no, they can’t be here yet. We’re not ready.”

Coulson frowns. “I don’t think they care.”

Stark scrambles out from behind the desk. “Don’t you have some secret armada somewhere? Distract them.”

Coulson shakes his head. “If we had I wouldn’t be at liberty to tell you.”

“We need more _time_ ,” Stark reiterates. “We haven’t even deciphered half of the code yet. Not to mention sending any form of coherent message that the artifact can process.”

“Then I suggest you work faster,” Coulson says, pointing at the enormous windows. The small black dots in the distance could just be a flock of seagulls - or an alien strike force, depending on how pessimistic you are.

The assembled group hurries to the windows, squinting at the sky. Stark is pissed because things are not going according to his plan, Banner is mainly worried, Thor is keeping an eye on Loki - and Loki is gradually getting more annoyed.

Captain Rogers has already left to coordinate with law enforcement and the military, and, as a byproduct, act as visual assurance to the general population. Nothing says _’Everything is going to be alright’_ like Captain America personally overseeing evacuations.

Agents Barton and Romanova are equally busy being out and about which leaves Coulson with this illustrious group of four.

“Is there any way to use the artifact as it is now?” Coulson asks.

Stark shakes his head no. “If we let it engage now we’ll be doing all the work for them. We can’t even tell it to stand down, let alone naming a target.”

Like an audible reminder that they are cutting it mighty close, Coulson’s cell phone is continuously beeping into the uneasy silence that follows.

Coulson notices Banner eyeing him through one of the transparent screens. “Something the matter, doc?”

Banner hesitates, pushing the screen aside. “Well, I was just thinking... we can’t get the right signal through to the artifact. But what if no one can?”

Coulson cocks his head to the side. “I’m sorry, doc, not following.”

Banner gestures vaguely. “See, the artifact is dependent on a signal to tell friend from foe, right? If we can somehow block _every_ signal it won’t be able to differentiate anymore and will engage on its own kind as well. In theory, at least.”

Stark and Thor are listening avidly. Loki, presumably, is too but he is still standing by the windows watching the black dots morph into things that can’t be seagulls no matter how hard you try to convince yourself.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I can see where you’re going with that.” Stark nods his head. “Straight to the middle ages,” he adds with a shrug. “But it might be enough to deplete this thing. I mean, it would be engaging on an entire _city_ as well as a bunch of battleships. If we have to go stone age I say we take the bastards with us. Right?”

He gives Coulson a bright smile as if ordering a city-wide blackout is something of a life goal of his.

Coulson scowls. “Stark, I will not give you permission to deliberately power down the entire city of New York.”

Stark waves a hand at the approaching force. “It’s either that or they take us out building by building. You think that’s better? At least, like this we’ve got a chance of getting rid of them.”

“What are the chances of everything coming back online afterwards?” Coulson inquires sternly.

Stark looks to Banner, who wiggles his hand. Stark nods firmly. “I’d give it a solid eighty-five percent chance of success.”

Coulson rubs a hand over his face, sighing. “Eighty-five percent. You want me to tell director Fury we are going to bump New York and god knows how much more back to the Dark Ages because it _might work_?”

“Did I say that?” Stark huffs. “I said eighty-five percent. That’s a hell of a lot better than _might_. It’s practically almost certain. Everything I do has an eighty-five percent chance of success.”

“That is not as good a selling point as you seem to think,” Coulson remarks.

Stark shrugs. “It’s all we’ve got. Unless you’ve got some magical Stop-The-Alien-Strike-Force button somewhere on your person, which, for the record, wouldn’t even surprise me.”

Coulson eyes the two scientists, one of which doesn’t seem eighty-five percent certain but also happens to lack any other arguments.

“Okay,” Coulson agrees tentatively. “Assuming we do this, how would it work?”

Banner pauses in favor of pulling up a screen and awkwardly doodling on it with his fingers. “If this is the artifact - stop laughing, Tony, you know I can’t draw - anyway, this is the artifact and, to put it simply, we’ll attach a sort of active speaker to it. It will cancel out all incoming signals, forcing the artifact to engage against its own fleet.”

Banner looks at his illustration and grimaces, but continues to elaborate, “However, I suggest not doing that in here. A wide open space would probably be best for maximum effect. Also, I imagine it would help to lure all the battleships to one location.”

“A wide open space,” Coulson repeats in disbelief. “Do you want me to put this thing in Central Park?”

To his horror Stark gives another shrug. “I’ve never found it that impressive to begin with-”

“No,” Coulson insists. “If this really works whatever falls out of the sky will land on the surrounding buildings. I am not risking that. Other suggestions?”

“How about a bridge?”

Stark whirls around and rolls his eyes at Loki. “Oh, I almost forgot you were there. Shame.”

Loki lazily detaches himself from where he’s been leaning and smiles. “And I was trying to forget your existence. It seems we were both unsuccessful.”

“Back to the bridge topic, gentlemen,” Coulson interrupts.

“It could work,” Banner replies, since Stark refuses to elaborate on account of eyeing Loki’s every move with unveiled suspicion. “Although, if memory serves the closest bridge is still awfully far away. Especially, considering we can’t use motorized transport.”

“We should just put him in a rowboat with the artifact and see what happens,” Stark chimes in with a spiteful glance in Loki’s direction.

Loki’s grin is completely lacking in humor. “Cute. Still leaves the problem of getting the artifact out of here. Are you offering to carry it?”

“You’re the god here,” Stark snarls. “Or are you telling me you’re too much of a wuss to carry a box?”

Loki strolls up to Stark, his sneer promising imminent misfortune. He leans in and flicks the dimly glowing circle of light underneath Stark’s shirt. “You try it then.”

Stark flinches, his right hand already balled into a fist. Coulson recognizes the signs and breaks up the fight before it can delay their solution any further. Besides, Loki is right (even if he has a weird way of making his point) Stark can’t go anywhere near the artifact so Iron Man’s definitely out.

“Am I hearing you volunteer?” Coulson raises his eyebrows at Loki who gives him a patronizing smile.

Loki lets his gaze sweep over the assembled group as if they were a particularly nasty form of fungi. “The way I see it, I hardly need to. I already am your only option. Unless you want to risk Banner throwing it at a battleship in a fit of rage, of course.”

“Hey!” Banner interjects. “That was uncalled for. I could do it. I’m not saying it would be the wisest choice, but I’m perfectly capable of-”

“Yes, yes.” Loki waves Banner’s protest off like a teacher cutting a long-winded recital short. “I’m sure outrunning an airborne strike force is an entirely stress-free affair.”

“I never claimed it would be,” Banner retorts. “But it beats handing you a potentially devastating weapon.”

“Oh!” Loki turns around and Coulson sighs inwardly at the overblown theatrics. “Well, if that’s what you are worried about, go ahead. I’ll be up here not caring very much.”

Loki slides into one of Stark’s chairs, looking for all it’s worth like he is planning to stay there. He gives them all an expectant look. “Well? Are you going to wait until everything goes dark or why are you still here?”

Stark’s eyes are narrowed in suspicion. “Since when are you so eager to help?” 

Loki snorts. “I’m not eager. I just happen to be thinking logically. You _can’t_ take it, Banner _shouldn’t_ take it-”

“What about Thor though?” Stark points triumphantly. “What about your logic now, Spock?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Sure. Then I guess you want to have me in close proximity when I get my powers back, yes?”

Stark’s grin freezes solid on his face. Coulson has to marvel at Loki’s ability to advocate against himself on his own behalf. He is his own greatest counter argument.

“Well,” Stark admits cautiously. “If you put it like that it sounds much more reasonable to send you and wait for them to shoot you. Okay, I’m sold. When are you leaving?”

Loki slowly rises from his seat, brushing away the wrinkles in his S.H.I.E.L.D. hoodie as if it were a royal robe, and smiles graciously. “Did you miss the part where I’m _immortal_?”

“Hope dies last.”

Coulson stops them before they can get ahead of themselves. “Hold on, I never said you could go.”

“I’ll go with him,” Thor says, stepping forward. Coulson has been wondering what Thor’s thoughts were on this. He never seems to lose hope that his brother might eventually turn into a knight in shining armor or at least, a knight who stops killing everyone long enough to actually save _anything_.

Loki graces Thor with a look of pure disregard. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m not coming because I have to,” Thor says with the sort of soft smile that usually precedes him getting stabbed in the back by Loki. “I’m coming because I _want to_.”

Their gazes lock for a moment and Coulson wonders if he should be expecting something magical right about now. He is sorely disappointed when Loki merely turns on his heel and walks up to Coulson, snarling, “Get me a horse.”

Thor nods. “Make that two.”

Coulson frowns. “Do I look like I carry a ranch in my pocket?”

Loki bows down until his lips are level with Coulson’s ear. “Then work your magic.”

Coulson doesn’t flinch, which takes at least half the fun out of it for Loki, and instead looks at the assembled team who offer him either encouraging smiles, nonchalant shrugs, or the pained expression of someone who knows what terribly wrong life choices look like.

Coulson heaves a sigh and taps his earpiece for a connection to HQ. “Fury is going to hate this even more than he already does.”


	11. Chapter 11

Director Fury does indeed hate the living daylights out of the idea but considering the time limit and lack of alternatives he gives the order to proceed.

While Stark and Banner are frantically working on their device news of power outages on the outskirts of the city are rolling in. The combined forces of military and police are barely able to contain the situation. Once the blackouts spread - or, god forbid, the aliens do happen to find a death ray in their arsenal - all bets will be off.

Coulson waits in the parking garage beneath Stark Tower, checking his watch. The aliens are moving slower than expected, seemingly picking off building after building but leaving no damage except dead car batteries and darkened rooms. It’s a good thing this is happening during daylight hours. Mankind likes to claim it’s not afraid of the dark, but Coulson knows they are only kidding themselves. Sometimes it’s better to see what is coming at you than to let your imagination fill in the blanks.

The elevator doors open with a polite _ping_ and Coulson braces himself. Loki stops abruptly, causing Thor to run into his back.

“What is this?” Loki points an accusatory finger at the vehicle behind Coulson.

“A carriage,” Coulson replies truthfully.

Thor is already loading the crate into the back of the carriage while Loki continues to be hung up about appearances.

“It’s a wedding carriage!” Loki gestures angrily at the sign attached to the rear. It says _’Just Married’_. “Is this some kind of joke to you, Coulson?”

Coulson stands his ground. “Not at all. But you wanted two horses and this is the best I could do at such short notice. Take it or leave it.”

“It’s fine. Thank you, Coulson,” Thor says as he climbs into the coachman’s seat. 

“No, it’s not fine!” Loki insists, poking Coulson in the chest. “If you think that I will ride through the city in _that_ you are sorely mistaken. I demand-”

Coulson stops him, carefully removing Loki’s hand from his chest. “Look, you can demand whatever you want, but that’s all you’re going to get. So, get in or walk behind it. Your choice.”

“Come on, brother.” Thor waves his hand impatiently while the entire vehicle creaks under his weight. Coulson hopes sheer willpower will be able to hold the carriage together.

“We will have words about this,” Loki hisses but climbs into the seat next to Thor.

Coulson steps aside. “I’ll have the complaint form ready when you return.”

Loki elbows Thor in the side. “Run him over. No one will notice. We can blame the intruders.”

Thor throws his brother an amused glance but otherwise dismisses Loki’s request. He presents Coulson with a blindingly bright smile and then chirrups the reins.

“Good luck,” Coulson says as the horses start galloping towards the exit ramp.

\---

Coulson taps his communicator as JARVIS takes him back upstairs. “Barton.” 

_”Yes, Sir?”_

“I want you to keep an eye on Thor and Loki. They’re taking the artifact to the bridge. They should have a clear path but in case anyone’s giving them any trouble0 help them out.”

 _”Will do, sir. Where are they now- oh wait, I see them. I...”_ Silence ensues. _”Sir, is that-”_

Coulson sighs. “Yes, it is. It was short notice.”

_”Well, at least they’re easy to spot. And it looks kinda dashing. The bunch of empty cans really adds to the general air of urgency.”_

“Just make sure they get there in one piece.”

_”Not to be rude, sir, but are you sure it’s the two Norse gods we need to worry about?”_

Coulson steps off the elevator. “No. Actually, I’m just worried about one of them.”

Barton exhales dramatically. _”It’s Thor, isn’t it? He’s such a trouble maker. Been saying it right from the start.”_

Coulson smiles. “Keep me updated.”

Barton confirms and Coulson leaves him to his duties. It will take a while until Thor and Loki reach the bridge - even without traffic it takes a good twenty minutes to get there and they’re going by _carriage_ through a city in turmoil.

Meanwhile, the blackouts are spreading as the battleships move over Manhattan. S.H.l.E.L.D. gets reports of traffic collisions, burglaries, hundreds of persons injured - everything from bumped toes to head traumas. No reported deaths so far, but Coulson knows only too well how fast ‘you or me’ becomes just ‘me’.

There doesn’t seem to be a death ray though, which is a damned blessing. That is, unless they want to keep the best for last, of course. At the moment Coulson is merely watching neon signs and traffic lights die within an instant all over the city. Not to mention the massive ships slowly darkening the sky above them.

“You think this is gonna work?” Coulson asks tentatively.

Next to him, Banner gives a rather discouraging shrug. “It’s our best shot at this point.”

Stark apparently feels compelled to add some positivity to the situation and grins broadly. “Don’t worry, I have good aim.”

Barton has good aim; what Stark has is a radius of destruction.

Coulson refrains from commenting and instead gestures at the artifact room. “I think it’s time you went to your room, Mr Stark.”

Stark shoots the room a hateful glance, then looks back at Coulson. “Do I have to? I mean, it’s gonna work out fine so all we have to do is switch out the arc reactors, easy-peasy, and-”

“Tony.” Banner pats him on the shoulder in a sympathetic _Been There, Done That_ fashion. “Let’s go.”

Stark scowls, picking up random equipment along the way. “Okay, fine. But I want you to know that I’m doing this under protest. I’m telling you it’s-”

“What are you doing?” Coulson eyes the accumulation of technology in Stark’s arms.

Stark looks down, bemused. “Entertainment.”

Coulson arches one eyebrow. “What are you planning on doing? Build a robot in there? Tweet? The entire city is going to go dark in a couple of minutes and we’ll be lucky if it comes back on afterwards so what exactly is your train of thought here?”

“I need something to do, for God’s sake!” Stark complains, clinging to his electronics. “I could be in there for a long time, you know. If something goes wrong-”

“I thought nothing can go wrong?”

Stark inhales a sharp breath and glares at Coulson. “I think I’m beginning to understand why Loki hates you.”

He turns on his heel and stalks off. If he could have slammed the door shut he would have. But it’s infinitely harder when the door is seven inches of steel and automatic.

Banner waves a packet of poker cards around. “I’ll keep him occupied.” 

“He cheats, you know,” Coulson says as the door mechanism engages.

Banner smiles. “I know. So do I.”

The door clicks shut with a disappointingly low click. Deadbolts inside the wall slide into place with a muffled whirring noise. And then Coulson is the only one left in the room. It’s more disconcerting than he anticipated. Not that he’s never been alone on a mission before (hell, he completed more solo missions than he can count) it’s rather the fact that he seems to be the only one not doing anything that’s making him nervous. There is nothing left for him to do. Everything hinges on Thor and Loki making it safely to that bridge.

Coulson taps his earpiece. “Barton, how are we doing?”

_”Looking good, sir. They’ll be in the middle of the bridge in about five minutes.”_

“No incidents?” That would be a first when it comes to Loki.

_”Not unless you count that time Loki tried to throw Thor off the carriage.”_

And there it is.

“I take it he didn’t succeed?”

Barton snickers. _”Nah. I don’t think Thor even noticed.”_

Coulson refrains from pointing out that this is pretty much Loki’s M.O. - you don’t notice until it’s too late. But whatever Loki’s plan is he had better get this part over with soon for they are running out of time.

The lab falls into darkness as one of the battleships draws close. All the beeping equipment goes eerily quiet all at once, including Coulson’s earpiece. Not even static; so Coulson figures there is no use in keeping the device in his ear. He pulls it out and weighs it on his open palm before pocketing it. With a bit of luck he’ll be able to use it again in a few minutes.

The ship passes overhead, steering in the direction of the bridge. If Stark were out here he would probably make some kind of size joke, but he’s not, thus Coulson is left to fill the silence with his own thoughts. The ship doesn’t even make a lot of noise, just floats on by, leisurely, like the zeppelins of old. It’s almost disappointing. A big machine like that should come with appropriate sound effects.

Then again, nothing about this whole thing makes a lot of sense. The blackouts, the almost serene-looking battleships, the fact that humanity isn’t lying in a ditch yet like an overturned car - everything is somehow not what everyone had expected. If they manage to live through this Coulson would very much like to know what the heck this was all about.

Sunlight floods back into the lab once the ship has passed. Despite its seemingly slow pace it’s making good headway. No wonder, since it doesn’t have to circumnavigate traffic or someone trying to knock you out of your seat and run you over with a carriage. In the distance, Coulson can see other ships heading towards the river. Coulson can only assume that this means Thor and Loki have reached their destination. Now, they only have to wait for the right moment to open the box and--

From where Coulson is standing it’s a rather brief affair. One moment there are a good dozen battleships in the air and then… they’re not. The ships drop like stones without warning. Dust clouds rise to the skies as they take down buildings too close to the river and Coulson winces. Wide open space is a tall order in New York City.

Waves of river water spill onto the streets as several ships drop into the Hudson. There are no explosions, just a kind of breathless silence - a unique experience for a city like New York.

The lights flicker on a moment later and Coulson lets out a sigh of relief he wasn’t aware he was holding. A few lights exhale their life with a _zing_ when the power surges back into every corner of the building.

Coulson glances down at the streets far below. It’s chaos; everyone wanting to be the first back in their cars, back in the shops, back _home_. And some, Coulson presumes, are trying to use the mass panic to pack whatever their hands can carry. Coulson shakes his head. Weasley little bunch. He’d actually pay good money to see Loki deal with that sort of behavior on a daily basis.

Then again, Loki is not exactly a big supporter of ‘justice for all’. He’s more a fan of ‘more justice for me’.

Coulson squares his shoulders and steps away from the windows. He puts his earpiece back in, rather enjoying the sound of static as comms are being restored. When he jogs past the artifact room he bangs on the door twice to signal Banner and Stark that it’s safe to come out.

“Coming!” Stark tumbles out before the door has swung all the way open.

Coulson squints. “Are you in your underwear?”

Stark looks down at himself. “Strip poker,” he says with a shrug. “But Banner cheats.”

“So do you, I hear,” Coulson replies with a thin smile as the elevator doors slide open behind him.

Stark scratches his head. “Yeah. But he’s better at it than I am, which is fascinating. So, let’s go see those spaceships, shall we?”

Stark takes exactly one step forward before Banner bustles out of the artifact room and grabs him by the arm.

“What?” Stark swats at Banner’s hand but this is the Hulk, after all, even if he is barefoot right now.

“It’s too risky,” Banner explains and Coulson silently agrees. “We don’t know what sort of secondary weapons they might have. We got power back, but so will they, and they might hit us again. Do I have to remind you what happened last time?”

“Yeah, okay, but-,” Stark longingly points in the general direction of the river. “ _Spaceships_.”

“Doctor Banner is right,” Coulson says and steps into the elevator. “We can’t risk it. But I’ll make sure to get you a souvenir.”

Stark wrestles free of Banner’s hold, giving them both the stinkeye. “So that S.H.I.E.L.D. can make me look at it and then confiscate all data? I don’t think so.”

Coulson shrugs and steps into the elevator. “Suit yourself.”

Coulson wishes he could just shut himself inside a secure room too, but now comes the hard part: How to deal with a bunch of stranded (and possibly dangerous) aliens. Not to mention picking up the pieces of whatever’s left after the panic has subsided.

Coulson hurries into the lobby, trying to reach whoever he can on the comms. “Somebody get me a car.”

 _”You rang?”_ Agent Romanova responds and waves at him from the seat of a motorcycle. She’s not even wearing a helmet. Coulson should make her sit through another one of those safety seminars. But that would only mean she would lace the coffee with rum again and show the other participants how to fabricate a listening device out of a can of Pringles.

Coulson observes the vehicle with unveiled suspicion. “Is this yours?” 

She grins and pats the spot behind her. “For now. Don’t worry, I know where it was parked.”

Coulson figures they can argue about the details later. He climbs into the seat and holds on for dear life when she speeds off before Coulson even has his feet off the ground.


	12. Chapter 12

Coulson isn’t sure what to call it. A crime scene? The stage set for a particularly ambitious sci-fi comedy? Neither quite seems to fit. And in its midst: Thor on a white carriage coming towards them at neck-breaking speed.

Agent Romanova brings the motorcycle to an abrupt stop and stares at the approaching Norse god. The backdrop of halfway sunken battleships makes for an impressive view.

“Maybe we should…,” she suggests.

“Yeah,” Coulson agrees and scrambles away from the bike before Thor can run them over.

To their surprise he doesn’t. Instead he stops and frantically waves Coulson closer. “Come quickly! Something’s wrong.”

“What happened? Where’s Loki-,” Coulson peers into the carriage and finds Loki sprawled across the seat. “Ah.”

“Is he dead?” Natasha asks, sounding entirely too hopeful.

“I don’t think so.” Thor slides into the seat across from Loki and carefully tries to rearrange him. “But something’s not right. He’s not waking up.”

Coulson hops on the folding step and feels for Loki’s pulse. “He’s alive, alright,” he concludes. “What happened?”

Thor shakes his head, looking lost. “I do not know. We opened the box as soon as we were in the middle of the bridge and for a moment everything was fine. But then he-,” Thor gestures vaguely, “-he simply dropped to the ground as if he’d been hit. He hasn’t woken up since.”

“Well, getting his magic sealed off knocked him out too,” Coulson says in an attempt to soothe Thor’s troubled mind. “I guess it’s only natural that having it returned to him would do the same.”

Thor’s furrowed brow indicates that he doesn’t believe a word Coulson is saying. He’s not the only one. Coulson is hardly an expert when it comes to malevolent sorcerers who’ve been hit with a dose of their own magic. As a matter of fact, Loki is something of a guinea pig in this regard.

“Sir, we might have bigger problems right now.” Agent Romanova taps Coulson’s shoulder and points at the river. The closest of the downed battleships is slowly rising out of the water, dousing entire city blocks in salt water as its engines heave it above the rooftops.

“Right.” Coulson steps away from the carriage just as a smaller piece detaches from the battleship and heads their way.

Thor joins him after another moment of trying to keep his brother from slipping off the seat. He eyes the oncoming ship with great concern. “Lady Romanova,” Thor intones. “May I ask you to get my brother to safety in my stead?”

She merely raises one eyebrow in reply.

“I am of little help to him at the moment,” Thor continues. “I cannot do anything for him right now but I feel I might be needed here.”

Well, Coulson can’t argue with that. Whatever is coming towards them will have a much harder time dealing with a Thunder God than some S.H.I.E.L.D. agents - even if one of them is Agent Romanova. Coulson gives her a small, encouraging nod.

She squints at them both for a second like a teacher trying to determine which of her pupils put the fart cushion on her chair, and then swings herself onto the carriage in a graceful move.

“You owe me a few bottles of that Asgardian ale for this,” she says with a wink.

“I will bring you a whole barrel full.” Thor smiles and Coulson respectfully pretends not to notice his hand lingering on the side of the carriage before Natasha drives off.

“He’ll be fine,” Coulson says in what he hopes to be a comforting tone. “He survived without his magic, he won’t die from getting it back. He’s got people to torment, after all.”

Thor’s smile is half-hearted but Coulson figures it’s better than nothing. They both return their attention to the ship that’s slowly approaching. It’s tearing down lamp posts on either side of the street like a lawnmower.

When Thor holds out his hand as if to call for Mjölnir Coulson frowns. “You really think that will be necessary?”

Thor gives him a clever little smirk. “Better safe than sorry, as I believe the saying goes?”

“Yeah,” Coulson agrees, readying his own weapon. “I’d hate to be sorry.”

Although, it will take a while for Mjölnir to get here. Last anyone’s seen it it was buried in the side of a mountain in Armenia. Even with its unnatural speed it will take at least--

Something whooshes out from underneath the ship like a particularly angry wasp and lands directly in Thor’s hand. Coulson takes a look at Mjölnir and gives it an appreciative nod. “Not bad. Does it come with wi-fi?”

Thor laughs. It’s a reassuring sound, amplified by the buildings on either side of them. If Thor can still laugh about stupid Earthling jokes, things can’t be so bad, right?

Together they wait with raised weapons as the ship touches down in front of them. To call it a ‘landing’ would be overstating it. It may be majestic while in the air, but it certainly has trouble calculating where the ground should be. The ship skids along the street, tearing up the asphalt like a badly operated excavator. It comes to a halt a few dozen feet in front of Coulson and Thor, behind an impressive ridge of debris.

“Hold your fire,” Coulson warns, hoping that comms haven’t been interrupted again. “We don’t want to make them any angrier than they already are.”

 _”You mean as opposed to before we dumped all their ships in the river?”_ That’s Barton’s voice. It figures that he would be up there somewhere.

“Yes, exactly,” Coulson replies.

 _”Oh,”_ Barton says after a second of stumped silence. _”Okay.”_

Coulson’s grip on his gun grows tighter as an enormous cloud of steam erupts from the side of the ship, wafting into the side-alleys. He can see out of the corner of his eye that Thor is getting ready to battle as well.

“Any idea what we’re dealing with?” Coulson asks as a door on the side of the ship slowly slides open.

Thor, unfortunately, shakes his head. “I’m not sure. I have never seen these designs before.”

“Great.” Coulson aims his weapon at the shadow that has appeared in the fog hanging around the ship. “It’ll be a first for us all.”

Coulson can honestly say that he’s seen some weird shit in his life. He’s met actual gods, saved the planet a couple of times (not that the public will ever know about it, but it never hurts to keep tabs), and has encountered monsters that would make horror story writers cower in fear. But what falls out of the ship in a complicated tangle of limbs is entirely new to Coulson.

The creature that comes shuffling towards them is basically one part stress ball, and one part gangly limbs. Coulson can’t even tell which side is up. But apparently neither can the creature. It hops, staggers, and cartwheels up to them, and the whole time Coulson isn’t sure if he’s supposed to laugh or put it out of its misery.

Then he remembers that Loki looks pretty ridiculous in a S.H.I.E.L.D. sweater too and that has never stopped him from being dangerous so caution is advisable.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to stop right there!” Coulson shouts. Not that he has any hope of that thing understanding him, but he can’t just stand there and do nothing.

Apparently, Thor feels the same. He shouts something in all kinds of tongues, but the creature keeps on moving forward in a strange zig-zag motion caused by too many extremities meandering in diverging directions.

Coulson takes a step backwards, readjusting his grip on his weapon. “Thor? Any ideas?”

Thor grunts in reply and swings his hammer, bringing it down hard on the concrete. The surface cracks open as the shockwave runs along the street. It slams into the alien head-on, sending it flying backwards. Coulson ducks as shattered glass rains down upon them and ornate storefronts get shaken loose.

Dust rises from where the shockwave has dumped the alien. It landed somewhere behind the pile of debris gathered by its own ship.

Coulson cranes his neck. “You think that did it?”

Thor looks at him and shrugs. Not very helpful.

Something groans behind the pile of dirt, shifting, and possibly getting ready for a counter attack.

“Barton, do you see it?”

_”Negative, sir. It landed just beneath the ship.”_

Coulson sighs and signals for Thor to follow him. “Damn it. Guess we’ll have to go check on it ourselves.”

Thor nods and raises his hammer, ready to strike down whatever decides to come at them. The dust has settled, which makes it a little easier to climb to the top of the heap of debris that the ship has accumulated. Coulson carefully peers over the edge and spots the alien life form amidst a tangle of bent lamp posts and car parts. It huffs and squeals as it tries to get its bearings.

“Any idea what it’s saying?” Coulson asks, keeping his gun trained on the creature.

Thor’s brow furrows as he listens. “I think it’s… it’s cursing.”

“So you understand it?”

Thor wiggles his hand. “I’m not sure. It’s a very odd dialect. Let me check.”

“Thor, don’t-”

But there he goes, slipping and sliding into the ditch beneath the ship.

Coulson tries to get a glimpse of what’s happening, but all he can see is a bunch of hand-like limbs swatting at Thor. In the audio department all Coulson can say for sure is that their visitor is very upset and screaming in a high-pitched voice.

“You okay down there?” Coulson inquires after a few minutes.

“Yes!” Thor shouts, waving. “Yes, we’re good.”

Coulson peers over the the ridge only to find Thor dragging the alien behind him via three of its legs. “Oh, you’re- you’re bringing it up here. How nice.”

Coulson holds up his hands, signalling his team. “Everyone stand down.”

Thor scrambles over a few particularly large pieces of concrete and flings the alien past Coulson like a sack of potatoes. That is certainly going to help diplomatic relations.

“It’s fine! It’s fine,” Thor placates as he dusts himself off.

Coulson snaps to attention when the creature makes it back onto several of its feet and starts wobbling towards him, screeching.

“It doesn’t _look_ fine,” Coulson says, aiming for what he assumes is the creature’s face.

Thor quickly grabs Coulson’s gun, turning it away from the alien. “Nonono. I assure you there’s no need for that. They are friendly.”

“Friendly?” Coulson nods his head towards the city. “You call putting the entirety of Manhattan out of commission _friendly_?”

Thor heaves a sigh. “I know how it looks, but they do not mean any harm.”

Coulson shakes his gun arm loose. “Then what _did_ they mean to do?”

Thor looks a little sheepish. “My father once told me of a species that never ventured further out into space than their own moons. Gifted engineers, he said, but rubbish at everything else - including warfare. So they focused their efforts on methods of defense instead. It made them weary of outsiders so, as you can imagine, healthy diplomatic relations were difficult to uphold. So everyone just… stopped trying. Hardly anyone alive today has seen them or their ships.”

Coulson eyes the alien, who seems to have ceased arguing on account of its extremities slowly causing it to drift off to the left. “Your father mention anything about limbs?”

Thor nods, following Coulson’s gaze, his expression varying between pity and interest. “My father said they were not aggressive. But very inventive in defending themselves.”

“Yeah,” Coulson agrees while the creature corrects its course. “I feel like their personal bubble is wider than most.”

The alien successfully arrives at Thor’s side and Thor introduces it with a sound that Coulson can only describe as a hawk fighting an anaconda while holding a pair of castanets. It’s an impressive array of sounds Coulson hopes never to hear again. 

Coulson waves tentatively. “Hello.”

The creature yelps excitedly and waddles up to Coulson while its limbs go into overdrive patting Coulson down.

He freezes, whispering. “I’m not quite sure how to react?”

Thor scratches his beard as if in thought and eventually shrugs. “I have no idea. I’ve never met any of them. But I’ve come across some species with very bad eyesight who use touch as a way of greeting. I think you’re doing fine.”

Coulson sticks out his thumb without moving his arm too much. “Great.”

The full-body version of a secret handshake ends eventually when the creature tumbles backwards into Thor’s outstretched arms. He helps it back onto its various feet as it continues its litany.

Coulson straightens out his suit and shoots Thor an inquisitive look. “So? What do they want?”

Thor carefully lets go of the creature. “The artifact you found, of course. It’s their only means of defense. I’m not sure about the details but apparently it got stolen a while ago?”

Coulson glances around at the destroyed cityscape. “They don’t seem defenseless to me.”

Thor shrugs helplessly. “They were not aware of the damage they were causing. It would appear the defense mechanism on their ships is mechanical while the artifact is… alive. And thus much more powerful.”

Coulson nods. “Yeah, we noticed that. What kind of guarantees do we have that they won’t use it on us once we give it to them?”

Thor looks almost offended. “I assure you they do not mean to harm you.”

The last remains of an entrance hall to their right takes this moment to cave in on itself as if to underline Coulson’s expression of deep-seated doubt. He points at the heap of glass and wiring in accusatory silence.

“Fine,” Thor concedes. “They did some harm. But as I said it was not their intention.”

“The screaming, looting, and mass hysteria weren’t what they wanted?”

Thor cocks his head to the side. “I’m not sure we can blame them for our own shortcomings.”

Coulson pauses. “Okay, agreed. But still, I can’t take this to my higher-ups without some assurances that we will never see this thing again.”

Thor taps his chin in contemplation, then he starts talking in the alien’s language again. This is obviously what Allspeak sounds to someone who isn’t from Asgard. Thor is basically a walking Babelfish app. Coulson can’t help but wonder if Thor is about as accurate.

“He says he’ll stay with us until the artifact is safely aboard one of their ships and out of your orbit,” Thor concludes after much head-nodding.

Coulson would have liked that in writing, but given the creature’s trouble with as simple a task as _walking_ , asking it to write that down might send it into a fit.

“All right, I’ll talk to Fury,” Coulson concedes with a sigh.

Thor beams at him and immediately starts translating. Coulson tries to escape the ear-piercing cacophony by having HQ put him in touch with Fury. However, Thor stops him before he can give the order.

Thor points at the creature. “He says thank you. And sorry for all the-,” Thor looks around, waving his hand, “-for everything. They are offering to help with repairs.”

Coulson coaxes his lips into a smile. “Thank you, but we’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Thor gestures at the devastation around them. “There seems to be a lot to do. They are gifted builders.”

“Yes, I’m sure, thank you. After all this I’m not sure how I feel about aliens fiddling with our power grid, thanks.”

Thor shakes his head sadly. “You are a suspicious man, Coulson.”

“I know,” Coulson says. “I hang out with your brother too much.”

Thor inhales for a reply, but then he merely nods in agreement like a fellow sailor who has seen the horrors of the high seas.

“You’ve got this?” Coulson asks with a small nod towards their multi-limbed guest.

Thor puts his arm around several of the creature’s arms and gives Coulson a thumbs-up. These two are probably going to be best buds by dinner timer. Thor has that effect on people - well, people who are not Loki.

Coulson watches Thor enthusiastically conversing with the alien when HQ informs him that Fury is now ready to take his call.

Coulson takes a deep breath and attempts to get ahead of the shitstorm. “Sir, it’s all been a big misunderstanding…”


	13. Chapter 13

Five hours later the S.H.I.E.L.D. crew on site has named the alien ‘Burt’ and is feeding it burritos from a lone burrito cart that has managed to sneak past the police barriers. Burt is either very content, judging by most of his arms hanging limply off his body, or he’s lapsed into a sort of food coma.

As expected, Thor has made a new friend and is taking notes on whatever the alien is telling him. He claims that this is a marvellous opportunity that he never thought he’d have to learn about this form of technology. Tony merely sulks because he doesn’t get to take apart the spaceship.

By 5AM all the ships have taken off and the world is left to deal with the aftermath. Clean-up crews are roaming the streets, piling debris onto trucks to be carted off; police officers take statements from shop owners, drivers, unfortunate pedestrians, and whoever else wants to blame the aliens. The insurance companies are going to have a blast with this.

TV stations all over the world are reporting again, outdoing each other in exaggerations and apocalyptic would-be scenarios.

All in all it could have been much worse; it could have also been much better. But that’s mankind for you - if there’s not enough drama they’ll make their own drama.

Coulson wipes at his eyes as he walks the darkened corridors of Stark Tower. He has one last stop to make before he can finally head home. He finds that he’s not the only one.

Thor flinches when Coulson steps into the room. He is seated on the side of the empty bed (which is neatly made), fiddling with the handle on Mjölnir. He smiles weakly when he sees Coulson.

“He must have left some time ago,” Thor says, running his hand over the pristine sheets.

Coulson nods. “Did you really expect him to stay?”

Thor shrugs his massive shoulders. “A part of me was hoping he would.”

Coulson sits down in the only chair the room has to offer. It’s a big room compared to a regular hospital room, but Loki certainly hated it anyway.

“He got what he wanted,” Coulson says in lieu of an explanation.

“Still.” Thor sits up straight, his gaze sweeping over the cityscape visible through the windows. “It felt good to fight on the same side again. I missed that.”

While Coulson doubts that Loki would phrase it like that he’s pretty sure Loki wouldn’t disagree either. Loki’s hate is like an onion - it’s acidulous, makes a lot of people cry, and at the core of it is possibly the world’s greatest need to be loved. Coulson doesn’t say that out loud though. Instead he says, “Well, it wasn’t much of a fight, was it?”

Thor laughs, a little bit of the usual mirth returning to his eyes. “Not the most glorious battle, no.”

Silence falls upon the room as they both follow their own trail of thoughts. Thor is an impressive man, but sometimes Coulson pities him. It must be hard to never be able to stop loving an asshole. Then again, it must be equally as hard to be that asshole and pretend you don’t love him back. Because you’re an asshole.

Vicious cycle.

“Well, I should probably…,” Thor gestures at the door and slips off the bed.

“The universe never sleeps, huh?” Coulson gets up to shake Thor’s hand.

Thor smiles and clasps Coulson’s shoulder before pulling him into a bear hug. “Thank you, Coulson.”

Coulson pats Thor on the back, careful not to break his own arm in the process. “I should be thanking you. You were a great diplomat today.”

Thor shakes his head as he lets go. “It wasn’t for that, but for giving me the opportunity to stand with my brother once more.”

“Ah, that.” Coulson isn’t sure how much credit he deserves for that, but it seems moot to argue about it at this point. “You’re welcome.”

Thor gives Coulson’s arm another squeeze and heads for the door. He pauses though, with his hand hovering over the door panel. He doesn’t turn around when he says, “Coulson, if you should see my brother can you tell him… can you tell him I miss him?”

Coulson is pretty sure Loki already knows that, but who is he to tell a god what is necessary to say and what isn’t?

“Sure.”

Thor thanks him, his voice lacking so much of its usual boom. He always seems much smaller when he talks about Loki, which is an observation Loki would most likely delight in if he ever noticed. Coulson, on the other hand, keeps it to himself. He watches the door slide closed behind Thor and waits a few moments before sitting back down in the chair. The room is only illuminated by a small lamp above the bedside table, its light a tick colder than it has any right to be.

Coulson heaves a sigh. “You’d think after all these centuries he’d know when you’re in the room.”

The light flickers, shining golden for a second. Loki materializes leaning against the windows. Thor must have been looking at him the whole time.

“You’re an asshole.” Coulson feels safe to point it out since it’s a fact. It’s like telling Loki his hair is black.

Any other day, Loki would have rounded on him like a hungry tiger on an injured antelope, but not today. This time Loki only saunters over to him and leans down until they are face to smirking face.

“Careful how you speak to me, Agent Coulson,” he says. “I am not the same man I was this morning.”

“I noticed that.” Coulson nods, trying to ignore the eerily glowing, green tendrils creeping up the arm rests. “How’s it feel to have your mojo back?”

Loki closes his eyes and inhales as if savouring a particularly tasty dish. “I’m finally feeling like myself again.”

He also looks like himself again. The S.H.I.E.L.D. outfit is gone, replaced by Loki’s trademark garments. The battle-ready bits are missing, which is a good sign because it means Loki isn’t planning on starting a fight today.

“I tried calling your cell earlier,” Coulson says in a conversational tone when Loki meanders back across the room to sit on the bed. “I’m partially deaf in my right ear now, so thanks for that.”

Loki’s brow furrows. “Interesting. I didn’t think you’d get reception down there.”

Coulson doesn’t even want to know where ‘down there’ is, he just knows it consists mostly of about a thousand Vuvuzelas screaming directly into his ear canal. Probably a special corner of Hel.

“Don’t worry, I have a spare right here.” Coulson pulls a cell phone out of his inside pocket and places it on the small coffee table beside the chair.

Loki regards it with the sort of intense disgust that other people normally reserve for toads, sewer rats or household chores. When he looks back up at Coulson he sneers. “Did you really think everything would just go back to the way it was before?”

Coulson shrugs and nods.

Loki throws his head back in a malicious laugh. “You are as delusional as my brother.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Let’s call it ‘hopeful against all odds’, shall we?” Coulson muses and taps the flat screen laid into the wall behind him. “JARVIS, if you please.”

_Certainly, Agent Coulson._

It’s funny to see the confusion on Loki’s face grow and explode into disbelief, followed by something that is without a doubt boiling-hot rage.

It doesn’t even matter which channel JARVIS chooses - it’s on all of them.

_THOR AND LOKI SAVE WORLD_   
_NORSE HEROES_   
_KNOWN VILLAIN TURNED HERO - MORE AT EIGHT_

The headlines continue to pour down on Loki like torrential rain, combined with assorted snapshots of his earlier public appearances. A few channels even managed to get footage of the white carriage and Natasha from when she dragged Loki’s unconscious body into Stark Tower.

Loki slowly rises from the bed and for a moment Coulson fears he might tear the screen out of the wall with his bare hands, but instead he just leans with his arms on either side of it and stares into the abyss of CNN live reporting.

“What have you done?” Loki croaks. They both know what worldwide coverage of Loki’s actions means for his career as a villain.

The villain community is in many ways even more unforgiving than a group of heroes. One good deed and you’re out, no one will trust you with so much as sticking gum under a cinema seat anymore.

“Technically, I didn’t do anything. Twitter did.” Coulson fishes out his cell phone and pulls up the app, showing it to Loki. “Did you know #lokiismyhero has been trending since last night?”

Loki’s hands ball into fists and the room begins to shake; green light lifts the bed off the floor and flings it across the room. It would have been much more impressive if the windows were breakable, but this is Stark Tower and Stark has had to replace these window panes one too many times to use regular glass.

The bedstead does shatter though, which doesn’t satisfy Loki in the least.

“You’ll pay for this!” Loki snarls.

Coulson picks up the spare phone and gets up. “Why? As far as I remember, _you_ offered to take the artifact out onto the bridge. And you should know that even if there are no cameras, there’s always someone watching. What did you think? That people would just ignore two Norse gods on a bridge in the middle of an armada of spaceships? As soon as the cell towers were back online all social networks went crazy over witness reports.”

Loki’s rage magic dissipates slowly, leaving only a faint glow around his fingers and in the depth of his eyes.

Coulson tosses Loki the cell phone, who lets it float in mid-air for a moment. When Loki plucks it out of the air it disappears into nothingness in a bright, golden flash.

“If that went where the other one is I’m charging you for the replacement.”

“I hate you,” Loki hisses.

Coulson sidesteps Loki and smiles. “See? Nothing’s changed.”

“I stole your t-shirt,” Loki says. It sounds like a petulant child wanting to have the last word.

“I know,” Coulson replies as the door slides open.

“How?”

Coulson shrugs. “You’re still you, with or without your magic.”

The smirk is back on Loki’s lips. “That’s what you might think but-”

“Did you draw something obscene on it?”

Loki gives him a baffled look, followed by one of unadulterated hatred. A balled up piece of blue cloth appears before Loki and drops into his open hands.

“Take your thrice-damned shirt and be gone from my sight,” Loki growls as he flings the shirt at Coulson.

Coulson knows when he’s overstayed his welcome so he quickly squeezes through the door before Loki can think of other things to throw. Once outside he untangles the t-shirt and smiles. It sports a Care Bear quite obviously pissing on Captain America’s shield.

~ FIN ~ 


End file.
